Darkness Rising
by Merrie
Summary: Sands is a schizophrenic serial killer who has finally been caught. This is the story of how that man becomes a member of the CIA. It's going to be a very long and twisted journey... Chapter Twenty Five: The Trial, Part I posted!
1. Darkness and Unexpected Occurances

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Sheldon Jeffrey Sands (SJ) or anything that comes with him. He belongs to genius Robert Rodriguez who would be horrified to see what I'm going to do to him.  
  
Summary: Sheldon Jeffrey Sands isn't your normal young man. In fact, there's nothing even remotely normal about him at all.  
  
Characters: SJ, possible OC's in the future. I haven't decided yet. Who knows? Since this is my story and I can do whatever the heck I want, maybe El will make an appearance as well. *grin*  
  
Author's Note: This takes place before the movie, before SJ was even a CIA agent, and would not have gotten written if it hadn't been for the well wishes and prodding of Miss Becky, gypsy, and Halia. This is for you guys, although you may not like what I've come up with.  
  
Rating: R for strong violence, graphic imagery and SJ's dirty mouth. Oh wow. This is turning out to be very graphic and dark indeed. Be warned.  
  
Chapter One: Darkness and Unexpected Occurrences  
  
The dark abyss called to him. It nipped at his heels and like a siren it sang to him to give up his will. To give into the darkness that was surrounding him. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands had no choice but to obey; to give into the darkness and to let it consume him. The darkness, delighted that it had won the battle for his soul, engulfed him in a wave, choking his spirit until there was nothing left but black. And what black! The deepest purest darkness ever imagined.  
  
The blackness of a star's shadow. The blackness in a mother's scream to see her child murdered in front of her eyes. The blackness in the eyes of a thousand starving children, rape victims, and war survivors. It was a blackness that clawed at the goodness of the world, ripping at it, tearing it to shreds if it could. It was what caused ordinary men to kill their families before blowing their brains out. It was what whispered the thought of suicide into the thoughts and hearts of every depressed soul that had just been about to seek help. It was what whispered to terrorists that their cause was the right cause and that it was worth dying for..worth killing for. It was what caused decent human beings to turn a cold eye to the beggars of the streets. It was what inspired the thought 'someone else will help her,' and let a young woman be beat to death in the view of hundreds, all waiting for that someone to come along. It was murder, it was greed, it was vanity, it was lust, and it was madness. It was all of these things, and it was all a part of him now. It was him now. The blackness had taken Sheldon Jeffrey Sands without a fight. How could someone fight something as powerful as that? They couldn't. There was no point but to give in. To embrace the madness.  
  
***  
  
Sands shot up in bed, panting, sweating, and short of breath. 'Dear God,' he thought, although he had stopped believing in God long ago, perhaps he had never believed in him, 'what a fucking horrible nightmare!' He wiped a hand across his face, trying to banish the darkness that surrounded him. He had two fears at the relatively young age of 26 years: one was that he would lose control of himself and of his surroundings, that he would lose himself to the darkness; it didn't have a name, only a feeling. And that feeling was a cold breath at the back of his neck. And the second was an irrational fear of the dark. He had had it as long as he could remember. He didn't know why he was afraid of the dark, and he sure as hell wasn't going to admit this fear to anyone, but he was.  
  
Fumbling for the lamp that rested on the bedside table, he rushed to flood light into the room to assure himself that there were no monsters waiting for him in the dark. He knew that those monsters were there, he even knew what they looked like; he saw one staring back at him in the mirror every morning. When he had finally turned on the lamp, he sighed in relief and wiped at the sweat-soaked hair that stuck to his forehead, cheeks and neck. There were no monsters in the room with him tonight, only.. Holy Christ, there was someone else with him on the bed!  
  
Startled, Sands nearly fell off of the side and onto the floor in shock. There was a woman in his bed! Not an entirely uncommon occurrence in and of itself, but this was one woman he couldn't remember taking to bed with him. He furrowed his forehead, and waited for the pain to kick in. It never did. 'Nope, no feeling of a hangover. I certainly wasn't drunk. But who the fuck is this girl?' Sands pulled back the sheets to look down at himself. His eyebrows rose at his lack of clothing. "Well golly gee, it certainly seems as if someone got lucky last night. Of course, it would have been more fun if I could remember it now, but maybe now that I'm awake and conscious, she'll want to have another---" Sands trailed off as he noticed something quite different about the black satin sheets that covered his large king- size bed. They were darker than usual. And his hands were darker as well. "Oh my Christ." Sands whispered.  
  
Blood didn't look anything like it did in the movies. In the movies it was always bright red and thick. In real life it was more of a dark maroon or brown. Especially when it was covering your hands. Throwing back the sheets, he noticed even more. His body seemed to be covered in blood. "Ok, don't freak out, Sheldon, there has got to be a fucking explanation for this," he reassured himself. "I'm sure this is just all a bad dream or something. Yeah, it's indigestion from the bad fucking pork from that Mexican place down the street. What was it called again? 'The Yellow Chicken' or something inane like that? I knew I shouldn't have eaten there. Damn Mexicans."  
  
As much as he would have liked to stall his mind away from the horror presented before it, he felt his eyes drift over to where the girl lay still on the bed. From this angle, he could see a pale creamy white shoulder and a long stretch of a flawless back and the just the top of a firm looking ass before the sheet covered the rest of her, enough to tell that she was naked as well, and a head of near white blonde hair that fell in curls to her shoulders. She looked beautiful in the pale light from the lamp on the bedside table. 'So far so good,' he thought. 'Maybe she's just sleeping?' While he had tried to sound hopeful even in his own mind, especially in his own mind, the words rang hollow in his ears. 'She would have woken up by now if she was sleeping. Oh God, oh God, I'm fucking freaking out,' he reached out a trembling hand on her shoulder. He pulled it away as if he had been burned. Nothing could be closer to the truth. She was as cold as ice, and it felt as if she had been that way for a very long time. It was not the feeling one associated with a living body. 'Oh God, oh God. Please, let this be a fucking nightmare.' Some part of him knew though, that he was indeed awake, that this was not a nightmare, and that part of him was screaming.  
  
Unable to stop himself, his hand reached out to touch her once more, coming to rest on the pulse point at her neck. After a long minute, he drew his hand back again, shaking even worse than before. There had been no pulse. It had been still..lifeless..dead. "What the fuck is going on?" Sands was nearly hyperventilating now. He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to force himself to remember what had happened the previous night. 'I went to the fucking Mexican place. Did I meet the girl there?' Taking a quick look around the room to make sure he was indeed in his own apartment, his thoughts continued. "What happened to her?" He said aloud. "I don't remember even meeting her for fuck's sake!"  
  
A sudden thought occurred to him, and his body went as still and cold as that of the girl next to him. He hadn't turned her over. He hadn't looked at her face. He hadn't found out where all the blood was coming from. "Oh, fuck." Sands said; his voice nearly a whimpering whisper. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck." The line became a mantra as he forced himself to turn the body over and look at it. At one glance, he had to quickly lean over to the side of the bed, and retched whatever was left in his stomach onto the carpet after laying his eyes on her. Or, to be more accurate, what was *left* of her. Sure, her back and shoulders looked fine, but her front, oh God her front..  
  
If there had been any hope in recognizing the girl and figuring out what the hell was going on, that was shattered when he set on eyes on her face. 'She has no eyes, oh God, what the fuck happened to her eyes?' Sands was beyond freaking out at this point, he was in fact nearing utter hysteria. The girls' eyes had been torn out of their sockets, replaced by gaping black pits where her eyes used to be. Blood covered her face, neck, and even her shoulders, and Sands had to fight the urge to retch again. But that wasn't all, oh God, that wasn't all; she had been what looked like stabbed as well. Stabbed at least half a dozen times from what he could make out, probably more, it was hard to tell underneath all the blood. The blood seemed to have stopped flowing, and most of it looked to be dry. A few of the wounds on her stomach and chest seemed to have broken open when he turned her over, and what extremely little blood that was left in her body flowed out sluggishly, almost not at all. It seemed that she had been bleeding, well not to death since she had been most certainly dead after all of these wounds, all night long next to him. He was near drenched in the stuff. This time, Sands couldn't hold back the urge to retch again, and he did so. Everything that was able to come up out of his stomach was already lying on the floor beneath him, so his body was wracked with aching dry heaves.  
  
"This isn't fucking happening, this is a nightmare, a hangover, a hallucination..I don't care what it is! This is *not* happening!" Sands shouted at the top of his lungs, as if by the force of his will alone he could make the grisly scene that lay before him disappear without a trace. "That's it; I'm beyond freaking out at this point. Waking up with a girl in your bed that you can't remember is one thing. Waking up with a *dead* girl in your bed that you can't remember is.oh God. This is not happening." No matter how often he repeated that line to himself, that didn't change the image of the eyeless face staring back at him. He knew that her face, what was left of it, would haunt him for the rest of his days. "Oh God, oh God, I didn't do this. I couldn't have done this!" His own blood covered body seemed to mock him. "I don't even know this girl! Why would I kill someone I don't even know?!"  
  
He quickly threw himself out of bed, careful to avoid the remains of his Mexican dinner and stalked back and forth across the room, not caring that he was still naked and covered in what he now knew was the girl's blood. He himself was unharmed, which made the idea that someone else had killed her even more unlikely. They wouldn't have just left him alive and unharmed. No, if someone else had done this, he would probably be lying next to her, bleeding out from numerous stab wounds, and staring eyeless up at the ceiling. "I couldn't have killed her! I'm not a killer!" He ceased his pacing as a memory presented itself to his consciousness. "Oh ok, there was that one time with the neighbor's cat, and..uh, the class's pet hamster, but I sure as hell haven't killed any people!" Sands didn't voice this thought aloud, but he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't have killed anyone, because that would be losing control. Control was everything. Balance was everything. If he lost that control, if he upset that balance, all would be lost. He would be lost.  
  
That simply *could not* happen. It *would not* happen. He had fought too damn hard for everything to fall apart now. Some dead bitch lying on the bed next to him didn't change anything. So what if he had killed her? He wasn't admitting to himself that he had or anything, but so what if he did? He was smart, he was clever. He knew he could get away with it. He knew the streets of DC like the back of his hand. He knew all the places to put someone to forget about them. The oubliettes, as it were. 'This is not a problem, Sands, so don't freak out,' he told himself, not even daring to mention his despised first name even within the sanctity of his own mind. 'First, figure out what to do with the body. You can't just carry it down the stairs as it is, now can you?' He felt himself shaking his head, agreeing with this sudden voice of reason. 'Get something to put her in. A garment bag would be best, but not your nice one, the other one.' Sands agreed with this idea and went to search for the garment bag mentioned. He found it with little trouble hanging in his closet and brought it back into the bedroom where he unzipped it and laid it down on the side of the bed where the body lay.  
  
Grunting under the dead weight of the woman's body, he picked her up and laid her into the open garment bag. With her now obviously small stature, she just fit. He started to zip the bag up over her feet before he remembered the blood-stained sheets still on the bed. Those would have to go. He had liked the sheets, but he certainly had the money to buy more. And his freedom was definitely more important than a set of goddamn silk sheets. Once he had reaffirmed this decision, he stripped the bed and balled up the soiled sheets and put them in with the girl. 'Damn, the mattress is soaked as well,' he thought with a frown. 'Well golly, that simply won't do. Can't have just anyone seeing that, now can I?' Kneeling down next to the body, carefully moving anything away that might impede the zipper, he zipped the bag up, taking one last look at the woman before him as if to etch her face into his memory. If you could look past the gaping holes where her eyes used to be, vaguely he wondered what color they had been, and the blood that covered most of her face and body, she really was quite beautiful. He reached out a hand to caress her cool face, and pushed a stray curl of hair back behind her ear from where it had stuck to the blood on her cheek. He also wondered briefly if he would ever find out what her real name was. Telling himself that it was probably better that he not know, he zipped the bag the rest of the way up.  
  
Suddenly the thought of what he must look like crossed his mind. He was still naked as the day he was born, most likely as bloody as he was on that day as well, kneeling over a suspiciously body-shaped lump on the floor next to a bed with a blood-covered mattress. Pushing the image aside for now, he turned back to the task at hand. Deciding for a quick fix, he merely flipped the mattress over. It was a bit difficult all by himself, but he managed well enough, taking extra care not to make matters worse by getting even more of the dried blood on his hands on the other side of the mattress. And he did have an extra pair of sheets in the linen closet, so everything should be fine. 'That's right, good job Sands. This isn't so hard, see? Just like in the movies,' having a Master's Degree in psychology told him quite a few things about his current situation. First of all, it was never a good idea to follow the instructions of a new voice inside of your own mind, even if that voice's instructions were good ones. 'But it can't hurt, really. You need me to get through this,' the voice whispered. Sands froze.  
  
Ok, now that definitely freaked him out a little bit more than waking up next to the corpse of a once beautiful young woman. He waited for a long moment for whatever had spoken to speak again, but whatever it was, whether it be his imagination at a very stressful point in time, or his own mind starting to splinter, it seemed to be gone. Glancing around the bedroom in a somewhat paranoid manner, he shrugged and decided he was better off thinking it was his imagination. Thinking it was something else..no, that road led to madness. And as he found himself, whistling softy to stave away the silence, cleaning up after what was no doubt a murder, perhaps preformed by him; he knew he was far enough down that particular road for one night already as it was. Deciding that everything looked suspicious but not overly so, he decided to finally take the shower that he so desperately needed. He had glanced at the clock on the bedside table next to the lamp and saw that he had a little over two hours until dawn when the housekeeper would arrive. He needed to have himself, the room, and the body cleaned up long before she even thought of coming over.  
  
***  
  
Blood was a notoriously difficult substance to clean off of one's skin, as he soon realized after standing in the shower for a good ten minutes with little to no success in getting the dried patches of blood off. Sure, most of it came off with a little hard scrubbing, but with his fair complexion it was quite easy to tell where the blood had stained his skin. "Damn it. That's going to have to do," he said to himself after a particularly violent bout of harsh scrubbing. The water in the shower was now tinted pink, and not all of the blood was the girl's any longer. Stepping out of the shower trailed by a curtain of steam, he wiped off the fogged mirror and took a long hard look at himself.  
  
He was satisfied by the picture of the man staring back at him. His eyes were a little wild, but he put that off to stress and lack of sleep rather than homicidal mania. Because he certainly wasn't a homicidal maniac. Even if he had killed the girl, killing one person didn't make you a psycho. One little murder didn't tip the scales toward insanity, did it? No, it didn't. And even if it did, he wouldn't let himself go insane. He couldn't. He had too tight a control over himself to lose sanity now. Not when everything was going so well for him.  
  
He had just graduated from grad school with his Master's Degree, and by golly he wasn't going to let anything screw up his chances for a good career now. Although he could have lived off of his parent's inheritance comfortably for the rest of his life, he hated it. He hated having to depend on someone else, even if it was his own parents. So what if he had more money than he could spend due to their rather timely death? He wanted to make his own way in the world. He had to make his own way, or else he really would go insane. 'But sane people don't murder strange girls, do they Sands?' He shook his head to push this thought away. He was not insane. And there was no real proof that he had killed her. None. As far as he knew, he had never even met this girl before in his life. Flashing back on the girl's eyeless face, he shuddered. And he could definitely *not* do anything like that to another human being. Even if he wanted to. So no, he wasn't insane. He couldn't be.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Ok yes, it was dark, but did you like it anyway? I really hope you did because I have absolutely no idea where this story came from and no idea where it's going from here. I am merely along for the ride. If SJ wants to show is more maniacal side, then that's fine with me. Is it fine with all of you? Please review and let me know what you think. But remember! This is my first attempt in entering the darkened abyss that is SJ's mind. He a slippery SOB, and I hope I've nailed him. 


	2. Body Identification and Disposal

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Sheldon Jeffrey Sands (SJ) or anything that comes with him. He belongs to genius Robert Rodriguez who would be horrified to see what I'm going to do to him.  
  
Summary: Sheldon Jeffrey Sands isn't your normal young man. In fact, there's nothing even remotely normal about him at all. A story of murder, mayhem and general SJ-ness.  
  
Characters: SJ, OFC's Yvette St. Martin and Rhonda "Big Rhonda" Starr. There will be others in later chapters. The story is just beginning.  
  
Author's Note: This takes place before the movie, before SJ was even a CIA agent. Thanks to the wonderful Miss B, for betaing, and to all of you who sent your reviews along assuring me that I was not insane for writing something like the last chapter. *grin*  
  
Um, I know I placed SJ in DC, but other than the usual touristy stuff, I know absolutely nothing about the city so all geographical info is utter BS.  
  
Rating: R for strong violence, graphic imagery and SJ's dirty mouth.  
  
Chapter Two: Body Identification and Disposal  
  
Sands stood at the doorway to his bedroom, his lean form half covered by a dark blue towel, his shoulder-length straight hair hanging limp and wet onto his shoulders and surveyed the scene before him. He had only a few hours until the housekeeper would arrive to see the remains of this...mess, but he was unworried. He was calm and he was in control; as always. He no longer cared who the dead girl was, or where she had come from. It no longer mattered to him. What did matter was getting her remains safely disposed of without getting caught. But in this also, he was unworried. He knew he could get away with it. He could most likely get away with anything; talk his way out of any situation. It was his talent and gift. Everyone he knew had always said so, and they had hated him for it.  
  
His parents' death was one example. They had died in a fire in their city side home, if a sprawling 20 room multimillion dollar mansion could indeed be called a home, when he was 17. He had been the only survivor of the blaze, and the sole inheritor of his family's considerable fortune. There were many people, his so called friends and family members included, that had whispered that it was too much of a coincidence that he was the only one to survive. 'Poor little Sheldon,' they'd say, and God how he hated that name, 'I bet he did it. I bet he burnt his poor parents alive. They never got along, and he's their sole heir. Did you realize that? He's filthy rich now. And he always was a rather disturbed individual as a child, you know. Always wanting to be left by himself; never wanting to play with the other children. And you know what his teachers said? They said he started fights in school. Can you imagine that? And they never did find out what happened to the class hamster.' Oh how his relatives would prattle on like nitwits for poor lost little Sheldon.  
  
He hated every one of them. The truth was that he couldn't remember what had happened the night of the fire. Try as he might, he could remember anything past standing outside on the front lawn watching it burn instead of calling for help. That in and of itself suggested that he might have had something to do with starting the fire; he had merely watched it burn rather than calling for help, but if he did intentionally burn his parents alive he had no memory of it. 'Which isn't to say that it didn't happen.' A voice whispered from a darkened corner of his mind. Sands frowned at this, somewhat worried that his conscience seemed to be speaking aloud to him, but he pushed the thought aside. He had bigger problems on his plate right now than his conscience taking voice.  
  
Deciding to just let his brushed and parted hair dry by itself, Sands went about getting dressed. Only the best outfit would do for what he had to accomplish. He had to be dressed nicely, but not so much so people wouldn't leave him alone. Just enough for people to accept at face value that he was a regular wealthy upstanding citizen, probably coming home late from some all night party. Pay no attention to the suspicious looking garment bag he has slung over his shoulder. An upstanding young man like that, I'm sure it's something perfectly harmless.  
  
Sands opened up his walk-in closet and surveyed what lay before him; row upon row of monochromatic black clothing. He wasn't trying to affect himself as an artist or anything by the almost completely black wardrobe, he simply liked the way it looked on him. It made him feel dangerous. 'Not that you need the clothes to feel dangerous right now if you did indeed kill that girl, Sands,' the now irritating voice whispered. Sands just muttered a "shut-up" but otherwise tried to ignore it.  
  
After a few long moments' deliberation, he finally decided on tight black leather pants and a black silk shirt so soft you could ball it up in one hand. Getting dressed quickly, he took one last look at himself in the bathroom mirror before going about the rest of his business. He looked good and he knew it. Maybe on the way back he could pick up a living girl or two to bring back with him. One could always hope.  
  
Coming back into the bedroom, he looked it over one last time before putting on his coat, and proceeding with the disposal. A thought occurred to him as his eyes set on the garment bag with the girl in it, where were her clothes? He kicked himself for nearly forgetting such a telling detail. Stalking across the room he searched every inch of it with no success. Growing frustrated, thinking that perhaps she had just come to his apartment naked, he couldn't remember anything so it could have happened, he knelt by the girl's body and looked underneath his large bed. Sure enough, there puddled in front of his nose was a tasteful black cocktail dress, a black scrap of lingerie and a pair of strapped three inch heels. Pulling each of these items out from underneath the bed, he noticed a small matching black purse up against the wall. 'No wonder I picked her up,' he thought with a smirk, 'she has my tastes in color.' 'Aha,' the irritating voice piped in, 'so you did pick her up. You admit it. You picked her up and then you probably had sex with her and then killed her. Perhaps you killed her first instead, you are a rather sick individual, you know.'  
  
"Shut up," Sands mumbled to himself. He didn't have time for a rampant conscience right now that called him a sicko. He had more important things to do. Grabbing the purse, he took a deep breath and opened it slowly. He hadn't wanted to know who the girl was, but now he found he couldn't stop himself from wondering. He upended the purse and dumped its contents on the floor next to its owner.  
  
To say he was shocked at what he saw before him was an understatement. There, lying ever so innocently on the carpet was a handgun. It was only a small .22 caliber pistol, something a young woman might carry in a small purse, but it was a handgun all the same. Sands had dealt with handguns before, he even owned a few himself, but he approached this one as if it was about to come alive and blow his brains out at any second. He picked it up cautiously, stressing to himself that there was nothing to worry about, and sniffed delicately at the barrel. It hadn't been fired recently. That meant that the girl either didn't have a chance to get to it, or more frightening, she hadn't thought she had she needed it. The second option worried Sands even more, because if he and the girl had indeed made love, she wouldn't have had any reason to suspect that he might kill her. He still wasn't fully admitting to himself that he had killed her, but circumstances were beginning to point to him in a way he couldn't ignore.  
  
What his eyes landed on next freaked him out more than the handgun ever could. There, glinting menacingly in the warm light flooding the bedroom was a laminated nametag. The bold letters C.I.A at the top stared him down like members of a firing squad. Sands felt his mouth dry instantly, his tongue seeming to shrivel to the point where coherent speech was an impossibility. Yvette St. Martin, CIA. Not believing his eyes, he fumbled for her driver's license. Place of residence: Langley, Virginia. "Oh...shit," he whispered.  
  
Not caring that it felt like his mouth was filled with gravel, Sands backed away sharply and began muttering to himself. "This is not happening. This cannot be fucking happening! The fucking CIA?? Give me a break! What the fuck is she doing here?" The irritating voice popped in to mention cheerily that she might have been on vacation. "Shut up!!" Sands screamed at the top of his lungs. He no longer cared about propriety or keeping control over himself or his situation. He was freaking out, and he didn't care about anything except saving his own skin.  
  
In a fit of unrestrained rage, he took the gun and the laminated CIA badge and threw them as hard as he could against the far wall. Upon impact, the .22 fired off a shot that flew so close to his head that Sands could feel the wind of it ruffle his still wet hair. Dropping to the ground on instinct, he pressed his head against the body of the girl, Yvette St. Martin, CIA, in the bag. When he realized what had happened he sat up, stared at the handgun where it lay against the wall, its barrel smoking, and began to laugh.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he laughed for, but it seemed like hours. He was also somewhat aware during his bout of laughter that he was most definitely hysterical. 'Oh who cares if you're hysterical,' the voice inside his head said, laughing itself, 'You're alive. Be thankful. Of course, Yvette here's got nothing to be thankful for since you killed her, but that's life, right?' All of Sands' laugher died at this. He was no longer deluding himself into thinking that this voice was his conscience. Your conscience didn't speak to you like this. At least, he didn't think it did, he'd never really been troubled by one so he didn't really know. He placed the heels of his hands on his temples and tried to will the voice away. "I don't have time for this. If I am going insane, it's going to have to wait until after I've disposed of this body." The voice in his head didn't say anything more, but Sands could feel that it agreed.  
  
With that settled he got up, opened up the garment bag one last time and stuffed the dress, shoes and purse into it and zipped it back up. He then put on one of his leather jackets, grabbed his wallet and keys, walked over to where the gun and ID were, stuck the ID in the inner pocket of his jacket and the gun at his back in the waist of his leather pants, and hefted the body over his shoulder. It wasn't as heavy as it looked, he was pleased to note.  
  
Once in his apartment building's parking garage, he had made it down the elevator from his penthouse apartment and out through the building past the security guard without incident, the man at the desk even saying the usual "Good morning, Mr. Sands." He hadn't responded to the man's cheery greeting, but that wasn't unusual for him. Coming to stand in front of his car, he had never before hated it as much as he did now. The sleek black Jaguar would stick out like a sore thumb in the areas he needed to go, but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have access to his other cars at this time of night, so he would have to make do. "At least it's not the Lamborghini," he thought wryly. "There would be no way to fit a body inside that car." Juggling the body and his keys, he managed to open the trunk without dropping either and deposited the body laden garment bag inside.  
  
Making his way quickly out of the garage, he didn't exactly speed down DC's streets, but he didn't exactly go the speed limit either. He wasn't really worried about cops, but getting pulled over would just be a perfect complement to this already fucked up beyond all belief day, and it wasn't even dawn yet. He could just imagine the conversation in his head, "Why no, officer. I don't know where the body came from. Yes, she does appear to be murdered, doesn't she?" No fucking thanks.  
  
***  
  
Although he had never attempted to dispose of a body in his life, at least he didn't think he ever had, but his memory was playing tricks on him recently, Sands knew of more than one way to manage it. Even if he hadn't known such knowledge scientifically, he had certainly seen enough movies and read enough books on the subject. There was dismemberment, messy but effective. But Sands had neither the time nor the inclination to dismember someone in the wee hours of the morning. That left more scientific methods of disposal, which he ultimately preferred over the more barbaric means. All he needed to do was get his hands on some lye or acid. Either wouldn't be easy to come by at this time of day, but he thought he could manage. He knew the city offered Sodium Hydroxide or lye at it was more commonly known, for farmers for use in balancing out the pH levels in the soil of their fields. Not that DC had any farmland, but the surrounding area most certainly did, and even if he couldn't get his hands on any at a farm supply store, he knew that the lawn waste disposal people in the city offered it as well.  
  
Breaking in one of these buildings and taking what he needed had been so easy it left him not with an accomplished feeling at getting away with it, but a more disgusted feeling that if he had actually gotten caught it would have been more worth it somehow. This wasn't a very helpful state of mind to be in, but he couldn't help it; he was annoyed.  
  
Driving to what looked like the seediest section of the entire city, Sands smiled and got out of the car, opening the trunk and getting the body out, slinging it over a shoulder. He didn't bother locking it, because if anyone was foolish enough to try stealing his car, he would have a hell of a time tracking them down and well, killing them. No, if they lay a hand on his Jag killing them wasn't punishment enough. While gruesome torture scenarios ran through his head, he walked up to the grimy motel he had parked in front of.  
  
The woman at the front desk, who was upon closer inspection actually a man, raked his/her eyes slowly over Sands' dark form, not hiding her/his pleasure. "Whoo-whee, where did you come from, stranger?" the transvestite asked in a breathy voice, fanning herself/himself a little with the fashion magazine she had been flipping through with her ridiculously long blue fingernails tipped hands. "I'm Rhonda Starr, but you can call me Big Rhonda, sugar. If you know what I mean," she winked at him. "Are you just interested in a room or would you like some company to go along with it?" This was accompanied with a waggle of her arched eyebrows suggestively in Sands' direction.  
  
Sands struggled to keep his face free of the revulsion that welled up within him, and even managed a smile as he said to her, "Not tonight, sugarbutt." She tittered at this. "But I am interested in a room for a few days."  
  
Big Rhonda made a tsking sound with her tongue. "No can do, cutie. We only give rooms by the hour, not the day."  
  
"Well then simply charge me for 72 hour's worth. I'll pay whatever you want." Sands said slowly, trying not to seem desperate. Which he wasn't really, but he didn't feel like searching out another hour-rate motel like this one at the moment.  
  
Rhonda's flirtations paused for a moment, and a look of suspicion crossed her face and her eyes passed over the garment bag balanced over his shoulder. Deciding that she had seen weirder things in her life, the look of suspicion on her face was replaced by a look that could only be described as sultry. The thought of sharing the room he was about to rent, even for only a few of the hours he was paying for...she had to fan herself briskly again.  
  
This specimen of man in front of her/him was indeed worthy of her interest, but now it seemed that there was something about him. Something...off. It sent a chill down her spine. Now, the chill could have been due to the fact that she was wearing a bright blue mid-thigh length skin-tight dress in the middle of October, but she doubted it. No, the chill definitely emanated from the dark young man in front of her. Not that he had dark skin, no in fact his skin was the color of fresh snow, and now that she was really looking at him as a person rather than as a potential partner, he looked damn creepy in the fluorescent lights; somewhat ethereal. And the black on black ensemble didn't help. His face seemed to glow, floating above a sea of darkness. And while he was smiling at her, his eyes weren't in on it. No, taking a good look at his eyes, seemingly as black as his clothing in this light, the chill deepened and she shuddered.  
  
Sands caught the shudder and his forced smile slipped a little from his face before he could stop it. 'She suspects something,' Sands thought to himself. 'She was horribly flirting with me one minute, and now she's looking at me as if I sprouted devil's horns and a forked tail. This isn't good.' Sands unconsciously shifted the garment bag on his shoulder, the girl was beginning to get heavy, and the action drew an even more suspicious glance. "Is something wrong?" Sands asked, breaking the eerily still silence that had pervaded the room. Rhonda jumped. Sands narrowed his eyes before he could stop himself. "Do I frighten you, sugar?" he couldn't help asking, leaning in toward the desk, invading her personal space a little. He had always liked intimidating people, and this was no different.  
  
"No, no....not really," Rhonda said a bit shakily, clearly lying. "You really want a room for 72 hours? I can do that," she did a quick calculation in her head which impressed Sands somewhat, and spoke, "Seven dollars an hour for three nights is $504.00." The number was much higher than she had wanted it to be, because she was afraid of the man's reaction to the large sum. She was more than willing to bargain at this point; anything to get him to leave. She was no longer interested in sharing that room with him any longer.  
  
'You're going to have to kill her, you know,' the voice in his head whispered. 'She's too suspicious and we can't have that,' Sands found himself agreeing. "No problem," Sands said, leaning slightly to the side to balance the body on his shoulder so he could free his hands to get to his wallet. He pulled out 5 crisp hundred dollar bills and a fifty as well. "Keep the change, sugar," he said, handing them to her with as real a smile as he could manage. She merely nodded and took the cash without a word. She handed him a key with the number 13 on it and he nearly laughed out loud. Fate certainly seemed to have a twisted sense of humor this morning. "Could you show me where this is, sugar? I'd really appreciate it," Sands said, his smile coming a little easier than before, but still forced.  
  
"Uh, sure," Rhonda said slowly, stepping out from behind the desk. She very much would have liked to say no, but she couldn't think of a good excuse for why she didn't want to. Although, this man, while definitely creepy, couldn't do anything to her. Looking over him once more, she saw that with his lean form he probably couldn't even knock her over. She was 6'6'' in heels, and one tough cookie when the chips were down if she could say so herself. In fact, in the light of this assessment, she was no longer afraid of him and couldn't figure out why she had been in the first place. He wasn't a very large man, almost painfully thin, and his skin wasn't quite as pale as she had first thought. Perhaps it was the black clothes that had lent the air of danger around him. He was certainly dressed to kill. One thing Rhonda knew was clothes, and the black on black outfit he was wearing certainly wasn't cheap.  
  
"Lead the way," the man drawled. Rhoda frowned as she realized she didn't know his name. When she had told him hers, she had been too distracted by the sight of him to think of asking. "Hey, what's your name, by the way?" She asked over her shoulder, walking toward his room.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at such an inane question at this point in time, but answered her anyway, "Sands."  
  
"Sands?" she asked in a confused tone of voice. "That isn't your first name, is it?"  
  
Sands sighed, but figured what the hell. He was about to kill her anyway. "No, my name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands."  
  
The transvestite did the worst of all possible actions. She laughed. She right out laughed at his name, and he felt himself grow very still and very cold. Even if he hadn't already planned on killing her for her suspicions regarding the body in the garment bag gaining weight his shoulder, no one insulted his despised first name and got away with it. "Yeah, Sheldon. I know. What a name," he said around clenched teeth.  
  
"I can see why you go by Sands. It suits you somehow. Have you ever thought about going by S.J though?" Rhonda asked, still chuckling softly.  
  
Sands wrinkled his nose in distaste. "S.J.? That's almost as bad as Sheldon. Definitely not."  
  
Rhonda shrugged and walked on in silence until she reached the door. Sands handed her his key over his shoulder and indicated that he would like her to open it due to the rather unwieldy burden he was carrying on his shoulder. While she was opening the door, Sands reached around to where he had stuck the girl's handgun in his pants, and pulled it out, putting his finger on the trigger and holding it close to his right pant leg.  
  
When she finally opened the door he pushed her through it and immediately turned around and locked it behind him. The sharp push had caused her to lose her balance in the 3 inch blue heels she was wearing and she went down in a flash, a hint of blue lingerie showing from underneath her dress as her legs spread wildly. Without a word, Sands pressed the .22 to the back of her head and pulled the trigger.  
  
***  
  
'In retrospect, killing the desk clerk might not have been such a good idea, Sands,' the voice in his head piped up. 'You're lucky people in this neighborhood are used to gunshots and no longer call the cops when they hear one. You know that right?'  
  
"Shut up," Sands muttered. He was shocked at his actions however. He had never killed anyone in his life; at least, no one that he could remember, until now. The feeling of power he had felt holding the gun at the back of the transvestite's head had floored him. As soon as the deed was over, he had had to sit down on the hard bed and wait as the slightly dizzy and giddy feeling passed.  
  
The two 'women,' he now used this term lightly after having to strip down the supposedly 'Big Rhonda,' were lying with their heads at opposite ends in the bathtub. The lye was sizzling merrily away and doing its work well, helped along by the water he had splashed on both bodies. He was careful to not get any on himself. He didn't want anything tying him back to this room once he was finished. He had made sure not to touch anything without gloved hands, and no one had seen him enter the building or the room save for Rhonda, and she wasn't a problem any longer. The only real problem was his Jag parked out front, sticking out like a crow among doves. He needed to do something about that soon. But right now, the adrenaline that had been fueling his activities this morning wore off, and he found himself asleep on the hard motel mattress before he could stop himself.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Ok, that got a little long, wow. Hope you liked it. There's more fun to come!!! :-) Please post your reviews and lemme know if you're still liking it!! 


	3. Remembered Engagements

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: SJ is not mine, no matter how much I might wish it. Damn.  
  
Characters: SJ, the murdered Yvette St. Martin in flashback form, and her two friends Emily and Susannah.  
  
Author's Note: This takes place before the movie, before SJ was even a CIA agent. Thanks to the wonderful Miss B, for betaing, and gypsy and Halia for the continued support of this fic. You guys rock!! And to all of my wonderful reviewers? Thanks you guys, I'm glad you like this fic!!  
  
Also, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. For right now he's simply an everyday seemingly normal rich kid who likes to kill people. ;-)  
  
Rating: Hard R for extreme violence, very graphic imagery, naughty thoughts and language, and above all a long smut scene at the end. If you aren't of age, turn back now. Savvy?  
  
Chapter Three: Remembered Engagements  
  
Sands dreamt. He dreamed of a laughing, smiling woman, her body drenched in blood. He dreamt of fire, of murder, of death.  
  
He remembered the girl in his dreams. He remembered meeting Yvette St. Martin in the greasy little Mexican restaurant downtown he had once liked so much. She had approached his table and sat down. She was attracted to him, it was obvious. He remembered not believing that he had actually managed to pick up a girl in a Mexican restaurant. Something about the whole scene seemed unnatural. She had come up and sat at his table without a word, sticking out in the cheap restaurant in her black evening wear. Of course, so did he, but he was a regular, so he was paid no mind.  
  
She sat there, and neither of them said a word. She simply placed her head in a hand propped up on the table and stared at him. All around them the busy sounds of the restaurant attempted to intrude on the silence she radiated. Finally, he was the one to break the silence, "Sands," he said, gesturing to himself with a food-filled fork. He went about his meal; seemingly not even bothering to pay any further attention the beautiful young woman seated mere inches in front of him other than the initial introduction.  
  
The girl had smiled then, leaning even closer to him. "My name's Yvette. I bet you're wondering what I'm doing over here."  
  
"Not really," Sands said after taking a moment to chew and swallow his food. "I noticed you coming over. And I see your two friends sitting there watching us like hawks. My guess is that there was a bet of some kind."  
  
Yvette looked a bit stunned at this, that he was able to read her attentions so accurately, "Yes, actually. You're right. My friends and I," she gestured to two young women across the room at the short bar, who once they saw they had been caught, blushed simultaneously and turned away. Yvette continued, "We've been watching you ever since we came in here. They bet me to come over and talk to you. So Sands, that's your name? Not your first name, I take it?"  
  
"How astute of you," Sands said dryly. He was being a bit of an asshole, but he didn't like being made a spectacle of. Yvette didn't seem to mind his attitude, however so he sighed and went on. "Yes it's my last name," he finally said, putting down his fork to look at her.  
  
"Are you going to tell me your first name? I told you mine," she said, smiling coyly.  
  
"You didn't tell me your last name though, sugarbutt so I guess that makes us even," Sands drawled slowly.  
  
She smiled a bit, "Sugarbutt? Where'd you pick that one up? I've never heard that one before. And my last name's St. Martin by the way," she pronounced it the French way, making it sound almost like San Martan.  
  
"Yvette St. Matin," he said, rolling the syllables over his tongue. He met her eyes and saw that she was waiting for him to fill out the rest of his own name. "No sugar, I think we'll just stick with Sands. It makes me more mysterious that way," he winked at her.  
  
Yvette laughed and shook her head, her white blonde shoulder-length hair swaying slightly. "Fine, Sands then. What do you do for a living, Sands?"  
  
"Mostly I like to fuck with people's minds," he murmured under his breath.  
  
"What did you say? I didn't quite catch that," Yvette asked.  
  
"I said I'm independently wealthy and don't work right now. I did however just finish graduate school and am in the job market," he finished, not bothering to repeat his first words. There was something about the girl that caused a great feeling of mistrust to wash over him. For some reason, he was berating himself for telling the girl that much about him, and that something would have to be done about it. What that something was, he didn't know, but the feeling was there all the same. When he didn't bother to reciprocate the question to Yvette, she answered without being asked.  
  
"I work for the CIA. I know, that sounds pretty exciting when you say it like that, but really all I am is a glorified secretary," she rolled her eyes and let out a short musical laugh. "Excuse me, an executive assistant. There is no such thing as a secretary anymore, is there?"  
  
Sands let out a genuine laugh at this and even sent a tight lipped smile her way. "Let me buy you a drink, Yvette. This place doesn't have much to offer, but I find the tequila and lime is beginning to grow on me."  
  
"The tequila and lime it is then," she said with a smile. She then glanced over her shoulder while he was flagging down a waiter to see that her two friends were once more staring at her and Sands and sent them a look that pretty much said, 'Can you believe this is happening?' She saw her friend Susannah giggle softly into her hand like a schoolgirl and her other friend Emily fan herself dramatically with a cocktail napkin, both of them giving the man across the table from her smouldering looks.  
  
She turned back to the man and watched him silently as he talked to the waiter and ordered their drinks. His shoulder-length dark hair shined in the fluorescent light of the restaurant, and contrasted beautifully with the deep red wine colored silk long sleeve shirt he had on. The shirt was open at the throat, exposing the barest hint of a smooth pale chest that left her imagination reeling. Yvette thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Never before had she been so taken with a man in such a way. She longed to run her hands through that long hair, to nibble on his full lips and to ride his lean form furiously until he begged for release. Such thoughts made a horrible blush flame its way across her fair skin. She could feel the warmth of it and knew that it wouldn't look good.  
  
Sands finished ordering the drinks, turned back to her, saw the blush and smirked. There was no doubt in his mind as to the cause of such a blush. Her thoughts were written all over her face. He knew desire and lust when he saw it, and knew that he wouldn't be going home alone tonight. His smirk intensified as he saw her blush grow darker. "Is something wrong, Yvette?" He asked casually.  
  
Yvette rolled her eyes at him, trying to will her blush away. She knew he had probably guessed what was on her mind by his smirk, so she decided to throw caution to the wind and tell her exactly what was on her mind, "I'm imagining the sight of you naked and writhing underneath me, begging for the touch I'm denying you," she said, leaning even further across toward him.  
  
The world stopped. The impossible had happened. Sands was shocked. He felt his mouth open in a bit of a gape, his quick mind failing him when he needed it most. This girl had managed to shock him into silence. He was still speechless when the waiter returned and set their drinks on the table. Yvette sipped at hers delicately as Sands let out a low whistle. "Well golly, that was different. I'm usually the mind-fucker in the conversation, not the other way around."  
  
"Ah, so that is what you said earlier? That you like to fuck with people's minds mostly? I was pretty sure it was, but couldn't be completely sure. As you can tell, I like to fuck with people's minds as well," she looked over him slowly, and Sands was tempted to bear his teeth to see if they stood up to her inspection. "Actually, I just like fucking in general," she said, a naughty smirk of her own crossing her face.  
  
"That can be arranged sugarbutt," Sands said, the shocked look on his face once more replaced by a smirk.  
  
"You know, I think I like that, the sugarbutt. It just seems to fit you somehow," Yvette said, smiling over the rim of her glass.  
  
Sands didn't answer her, but merely tossed back his tequila with a grimace and waved the waiter over again to pay for his meal and the drinks. Once that was accomplished, he turned back to Yvette. "Are you ready to go, sugarbutt?" He asked, his smirk in full force now.  
  
"You bet your ass I am, honeybuns," Yvette said, laughing. She stood up out of the chair and walked back over to where her friends sat at the bar. Sands left a tip and followed her.  
  
Sands nodded to the two young women seated at the bar, both of whom were staring at their friend with a mixture of awe and jealousy. Sands had to fight back a laugh. 'This is rather amusing,' he thought. 'I wonder what I'd do if they started fighting for me?' That image alone was enough to send his face into smirk-mode on its own, but he still managed to keep control of his laughter.  
  
"You lucky bitch, Yvette," one of her two friends said, a sultry looking red-head in an emerald green cocktail dress. "He is a rather fine specimen if I do say so myself," she raked her eyes over Sand's form much more thoroughly than Yvette had, and Sands almost felt the urge to blush under such an onslaught. Almost. "I'm Emily, by the way," she said, holding out a dainty bejeweled hand. Sands grasped it firmly and planted a kiss on her knuckles in a gallant gesture. When he released her hand, she used it to fan herself briskly and looked him squarely in the eye. "If Yvette wasn't such a good friend of mine, I'd knock her down and eat you up with a spoon, dearie," she said with a wink. Sands let out a short laugh, amused by all the attention.  
  
Susannah, Yvette's other friend, a beautiful and kind looking brunette in royal blue wasn't quite as vocal as Emily had been, but the looks she sent Sands' direction weren't all that different. Sands was a bit lighter and more gentle with the kiss he placed on her proffered hand, never taking his eyes from hers as he did it. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sands," she said softly.  
  
"No, the pleasure was entirely mine, Susannah. And it's just Sands," he said, sending her as soft a smile as he could manage.  
  
"Goodnight, ladies," Yvette cut in. "I'm sure the two of you can find your own way home," she said with a laugh. Before she could grab her coat from the back of the barstool she had been sitting in, Sands snatched it away so fast that she hadn't even seen him move, and held it out open from behind her so she could put it on with ease. Emily mumbled what sounded like 'lucky bitch' again, and Yvette allowed Sands to help her put on her coat.  
  
"Don't forget your purse," Susannah said with a direct look towards her friend that Sands didn't fully understand. 'Perhaps she had condoms in it?' Yvette merely nodded and grabbed it.  
  
Once that was accomplished, Sands zipped up his own coat and they made their way out of the restaurant, into Sands' black Jag, which Yvette cooed over, and back to his apartment.  
  
***  
  
"Oh wow, look at the size of this place!" Yvette gushed upon entering his apartment. She immediately set out to look over everything and anything in as little time possible. Sands had been through this process before and simply sat in an overstuffed black leather chair in his living room and let her look. She wandered from room to room, not quite going through his underwear drawers and medicine cabinet, but close. "Hey, look at the size of this tub!" She shouted from the bathroom. "Want to take a bath?" she called out enticingly.  
  
The thought did have its appeal. A nice hot bath in his Jacuzzi with a willing woman could be very enjoyable indeed. "Perhaps later," he called back.  
  
She came out of the living room and sauntered slowly over to him, taking a seat on his lap. She seemed to be totally at ease with herself, and this pleased Sands immensely. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted. And Yvette St. Marin certainly seemed to be that kind of a woman.  
  
Sands decided to make the first move and grabbed Yvette by the back of her head and pulled her down for a searing kiss that after a long moment left the two of them breathless. "Your bedroom's where? I seem to have forgotten," Yvette said a bit dreamily. Sands smiled and scooped her up in his arms and carried her in the direction of his bedroom and laid her on his large bed.  
  
"Roll over," Sands commanded softly. She did as she was bid, and he unzipped the back of her dress all the way and with her help pulled it off of her and threw it over the side of the bed. When this was accomplished, she rolled back over and Sands drank in the sight of her in a lacy black satin bra and panties, her high heels still strapped on to her feet.  
  
"My turn," she whispered. Sands nodded, and allowed her to sit up on the bed. He sat down next to her and let her do what she wished. The first thing she did was to reach out and wipe a stray lock of his dark hair away from his face, tucking it behind an ear. She then set to work on his buttons. She pulled on his shirt gently to untuck it from his pants, and then unbuttoned what few buttons he had done up when he had dressed that morning. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, she pushed if off of his shoulders and down onto the bed. Sands took his hands out of bunched up sleeves and allowed her the honor of throwing the garment to the other side of the bed.  
  
He then sat before her, bare-chested and breathing slightly faster than he had been when she had started. She ran her cool hands down his chest, playing a bit with the line of dark hair that ran down from his belly button, causing him to shiver under her ministrations. Smiling wickedly, she ran her hand even lower, stopping when she felt his hardness under her fingertips. Sands let out a little moan at the feel of her cool fingers lightly grasping his cock, and this only served to spur her on further. She removed her hand and was about to unbutton his pants when he grasped her wrist tight enough to sting a bit. "Not yet," he drawled, his voice thick with lust. "It's my turn again,"  
  
Yvette merely nodded, wincing a bit at the force he had grabbed her wrist with. She would most likely have a bruise there tomorrow. Sands quickly reached around behind her and unhooked her bra in such a graceful way that she didn't even think she could have done it better. Her bra fell to her lap without barrier, and he added it unceremoniously to the pile of her dress and purse.  
  
She then lay back on the bed, and allowed Sands to run his delicate long fingers over her body, resting lightly on the twin peaks of her nipples, pinching them a bit roughly and causing them to grow hard in the chill of the room. Yvette let out a little groan of her own before she could stop herself. This man's hands were indeed talented. He smiled and leant over her, his long hair tickling her naked body. She reached out to touch him, but he caught both of her narrow wrists in one of his talented long-fingers hands and held them fast. "No, it's still my turn," he said again, gasped as he lowered his head down to one of her breasts, latching on her aching nipple with his mouth. He sucked and nipped at her, his right hand still holding her wrists together tightly on the bed, his other hand giving her other nipple deserved attention.  
  
Yvette shivered and longed to press his head harder to her chest, but Sands had her arms tight and didn't seem to be letting go any time soon. He did however release her nipple from his fingers, causing her to whimper a bit at the lost contact. All while still rolling her nipple in his teeth and around his tongue, he hooked a finger in her panties and tugged slightly to get them off, and she obliged him by raising her hips. When he had managed to get panties off and added to pile of the rest of her clothes, he stopped everything and sat back to look at her.  
  
Yvette was breathing heavily now and aching for the return of his touch, but she wasn't going to give up the control he willingly gave her for the moment. From the way he had held her wrists above her head, not allowing her to return the favor of his touch; she could tell that he liked to be the one in control while having sex. She didn't really mind, but she knew that she had to take advantage of this opportunity while he presented it, because there would most likely not be another. Under her trembling but delicate hands, Sands pants were discarded on the same side of the bed as his shirt. Yvette raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Commando, huh? Why am I not surprised?" With that comment, Sands smirked and took her, and they fused together, wordless save for their chorused moans of pleasure, and the scream loud enough to make his ears ring, "Oh God, yes! Harder, Sands! Harder!"  
  
***  
  
Sands shot up in the cheap motel bed, the sound of her plea still echoing in his brain. He remembered. He had taken her home with him. He had slept with her in his apartment. But what had happened next? How had she ended up murdered? Did he kill her? Thinking back to the transvestite he had just murdered without even the slightest twinge of regret, he thought it was indeed a possibility. But why couldn't he remember it?  
  
'Because I was there instead, Sheldon,' the voice inside his head whispered. 'I'm always there when you kill. Except for just now, that is. You killed someone without my help. Congratulations, I guess you're not as worthless as I thought you were after all.'  
  
"Oh God, shut the fuck up. You're just a voice inside my head! Why can't I get rid of you?" Sands shouted, pressing his hands to his temples.  
  
'Because I've always been here, Sheldon. I am as much a part of you as an arm. I was there when you burnt your parents alive. I was there laughing when you poured the gasoline over their bound and gagged bodies. I was there to hear their muffled pleas for you to stop. For you to let them live.  
  
I was there when you killed Yvette. It was my hand that plunged the kitchen knife into her body over and over again. I got to hear her gurgled screams. I got to witness her vain attempt to reach the gun she kept in her purse. The one her friend had insisted she bring should you turn out be a homicidal maniac. Guess what, her friend was right to suggest that. You are a psychotic with my help Sheldon, and a sociopath without. How does that make you feel?'  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Ok, how'd you like that chapter? I worry about the smut scene since that was only my second attempt at writing such a scene, but I think it turned out alright. Please send along your reviews to let me know if I'm still on the right track with this fic. I appreciate it. 


	4. Realized Psychosis and Newfound Enemies

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: SJ is not mine, no matter how much I might wish it. Damn.  
  
Characters: SJ, Emily and Susannah, mentions of Yvette, and now a new character sure to cause trouble, Roland Rivers, CIA.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who have given your support to this fic, you know who you are. And another million and a half thanks to my reviewers. You guys are the best!!  
  
Also, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. For right now he's simply an everyday seemingly normal rich kid who likes to kill people. ;-)  
  
Rating: R. Not too much of anything but talk in this chapter for a change. Enjoy!  
  
Chapter Four: Realized Psychosis, and Newfound Enemies  
  
Psychotic. Sociopath. Just what did those words mean, anyway? Sure, he could have given you the text book answers, he did have a Master's Degree in abnormal and criminal psychology after all, but what frightened Sheldon Jeffrey Sands the most was that he felt that sooner rather than later he would be able to know firsthand just exactly what those words meant. The real life definitions, as it were. He feared this, because he knew he was becoming one. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
  
***  
  
"You've reached Yvette St. Martin. I'm sorry I'm not here to answer your call. If you leave your name and number after the beep---"  
  
Roland Rivers hung up the phone with force. He had called Yvette's number five times now and all he got was her answering machine. "She couldn't have forgotten the meeting, Yvette never forgets anything," he muttered to himself. He absentmindedly fiddled with the simple gold wedding band on his finger as he thought about last night.  
  
They had gone to a dinner party together, representing their department of the CIA. He would have asked his wife to come, but she had been home ill in bed. So he decided to throw caution to the wind and invite his secretary; and mistress if he was being honest with himself, in his wife's place, and damn what anyone said about it. It would have been a nice enough dinner party with just the two of them going together, but Yvette had decided at the last minute to invite her two friends Emily Brisbane and Susannah Cartwright. He had groaned aloud when he heard this. Neither one of those two liked him very much and would keep him and Yvette as far away from each other as possible. Damn women. He ran a hand through his closely cropped blonde hair in annoyance at just thinking about it, his pale blue eyes flashing in anger. Most likely the two of them had taken Yvette home early when they were separated, and were now keeping her from coming.  
  
"No, that couldn't have happened. Even those two wouldn't be able to keep Yvette away from work. She may be a bit of a ditz sometimes, but she isn't stupid enough to miss a meeting as big as this one was."  
  
Just thinking about sitting in the review meeting, without his presentation notes, the notes that Yvette had in her briefcase, his supervisors looking ready to tear him to shreds, the image alone was enough to make his blood boil. He wasn't the kind of man to hit a woman; men he had no trouble with, but women were another story, but he was sorely tempted then just thinking about sitting in that goddamned meeting room unprepared.  
  
So he sat on the large bed that dominated his hotel room and tried once more to get a hold of her, and cursed violently when he got her voice mail again. 'Where could she be?' he thought to himself. They had only been in DC for a few days now, on this seemingly useless business trip his boss at Langley had sent them on. 'Is she avoiding me? Is that it?' he thought to himself with a frown. She hadn't been pleased with their relationship as of late, she wanted for him to tell his wife about her, he had other plans. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Eileen about Yvette, if she hadn't already figured out what was going on between the two of them on her own. His wife was a smart woman, but she often liked to delude herself into believing what was right under her nose was something other than it actually was.  
  
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He would have liked to believe that he was overreacting, but something in his gut told him he wasn't. Something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he had a bad feeling. Something had happened to Yvette last night, there was no other explanation for it. She wasn't one to shirk her responsibilities, and he knew only something seriously important would have kept her from their meeting earlier today.  
  
With a sigh, he grabbed his gun from the bedside table, a nice .357 Magnum that had been hell to get through airport security, and hooked its holster to his belt. Not that he really needed to take it, he was only going down to one of her friends' rooms to see if they knew anything, but it had become second nature for him to take his sidearm with him wherever he went. He had seen too many good officers gunned down when they were least expecting it because they had left their weapons at home. And he was determined not to end up like them, no matter what it took.  
  
Grabbing his wallet because he didn't trust the hotel staff to leave it in his room even for a few minutes, he turned and locked the door and made his way down the long brightly lit hallway to the room where he knew Emily and Susannah were staying. Raising a beefy hand to knock loudly at the door, he unconsciously straightened his tie. He knew if he were to get any information about where Yvette had gone, he had to play nice, and looking the part couldn't hurt any. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side, and it was the more forceful Emily who answered the door rather than her gentler and ultimately easier to deal with friend, Susannah.  
  
"Oh, it's you. I'm not in the mood to talk to you, so leave," she said, attempting to slam the door in his face. Roland, anticipating such a reaction from her, placed his foot in the door and prevented it from closing.  
  
"I come under a flag of truce," he said, raising his hands in what he hoped was an unthreatening manner. He wasn't very good at this kind of thing. "I just want to talk."  
  
"Is that why you have a gun at your hip, then? For *talking*?" Emily asked with a sneer, but stopped trying to close the door on his toes.  
  
Roland unconsciously placed a hand on his gun before he even looked down at it. "Oh, that. Well, let's just say you make me a bit nervous, Emily," he joked with a wry grin.  
  
Emily simply rolled her eyes at him, not swayed by his brief attempt at *charm.* Roland could see that he wasn't getting anywhere with her so he continued. "Really, it's just become habit for me to take it with me as I leave. If you want me to put it back in my room," he trailed off, sincerely hoping that she wouldn't take him up on his offer. He had no intention of going anywhere without a weapon of some kind, let alone hostile territory. Emily though looked just about to tell him where he could stick his gun when another voice floated out of the room from behind her.  
  
"Who's at the door, Emily? It sounded like you were talking to Roland," Susannah's lilting voice questioned.  
  
"I *am* talking to that miserable bastard," Emily muttered under her breath, but not so quiet that Roland didn't catch every word, which was no doubt her intention.  
  
"What?" Susannah called, not hearing Emily's answer.  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake," Emily cursed vividly, swinging the door open wide. "Come in, and let's get whatever you came here for over with as quickly as possible," she said with a glare toward Roland. He merely nodded calmly and entered the hotel room. He shot a brief smile to Susannah who was sitting in her stockings on one of the two large beds that dominated the room.  
  
"Hello, Susannah," he said as kindly as he could, trying to get at least one of the two of them on his side. She quirked an eyebrow at his tone but didn't tell him to leave, at least.  
  
"Good evening, Agent Rivers," Susannah said quietly, swinging her feet off of the bed to stand before him. At 6'4'', he towered over her. Without her high heels on, she was probably only a little bit over five feet tall, tops. But she didn't look the least bit intimidated by his presence. In fact, she sent Emily a questioning glance and sat back down on the bed. "What can we do for you?" she asked, taking charge of the conversation before he could get the first word out. That was what he liked about her. She might not be as vocal as her friend, but she definitely had her confidence.  
  
"Call me Roland, Susannah. Let me get straight to business. I'm sure you ladies don't want me bothering anymore than I want to be here," that was blunt, but it was truthful so he went on without pause, "I'm looking for Yvette."  
  
Emily let out a snort at this and mumbled, "Of course you are. Why am I not surprised?"  
  
Susannah sent her a stern look, and turned back to Roland. "Go on," she paused and he could see his title on his lips. "Roland," she finally said, and he wanted to hug her for it.  
  
"She didn't show up at our meeting this afternoon, and I was concerned," Roland began, but stopped when the two women shot each other an interesting look. The look was interesting because it contained both a mixture of amusement and worry. "What? What is it? Do you two know where she is? Because you two know as well as I that Yvette isn't the type to miss a meeting, for any reason. You know what I mean? So, do you know what happened to her? Please?" he added as an afterthought. He did want their help after all, and an extra bit of politeness that he didn't normally use couldn't hurt.  
  
Emily looked a bit surprised at that and spoke, "Well you really must be worried about her then. You're not the kind of man to use such nice language, Agent Rivers," she stressed his title and sent him a glare. "Especially when you want something,"  
  
Roland wanted to roll his eyes at this but he didn't dare. He was on thin enough ice as it was without bringing his sarcastic nature out to play. He turned back to Susannah, looking directly at her, trying to impart with his firm gaze that he really was concerned and not playing games. She nodded briefly and cleared her throat. "We haven't seen her since last night, Roland," she said quietly, ignoring the muted outbursts from Emily for what was making a deal with the devil in talking to him as far as she was concerned.  
  
"You haven't seen her since last night? Since the party?" he asked, ignoring Emily. He had never fully understood why she had hated him so much. He had never done anything to her personally as far as he could remember. But that wouldn't really matter to a woman like Emily. Doing wrong to one of her friends was doing wrong to herself as far as she was concerned. He had seen her type before, and couldn't help a wave of annoyance from washing over him. So what if he and Yvette were sleeping together? It wasn't as if he had forced her or anything. And he certainly wasn't holding her to any commitments. He still slept with his wife on a fairly regular basis, and didn't expect Yvette to embrace chastity when he didn't. What they had together was fun; nothing more, nothing less than that.  
  
"No, we saw her after the party. The three of us went out for drinks at a little Mexican place down the street afterwards. The Yellow Chicken, I think it was called," Susannah continued. Inside, Roland seethed. He knew that those two managed to get her away from him somehow during the party. Damn them. "Yvette," she turned to glance at Emily who had her arms crossed across her chest, fuming in his direction. If looks could kill, he'd be a smouldering mess on the carpet by now. She was also firmly shaking her head back and forth as if she didn't want Susannah go on any further. That just made Roland all the more interested to hear whatever she was saying.  
  
"Please go on, Susannah. Yvette what? Did she meet someone there last night?" that was the only thing he could think of that would clam both of them up around him. He wasn't jealous or anything though, so they didn't really have anything to worry about. He wasn't going to storm over to this stranger's house and shoot him and Yvette in a blind rage like some jealous husband in a movie. He really could care less who she slept with.  
  
Susannah let out a bit of gasp at his statement, but went on, "Yes, she met someone there last night, and they went home together. But I don't think she would have missed your meeting for that. Do you, Emily?" she asked her friend.  
  
"Oh I don't know, he was a tasty treat, wasn't he? I wouldn't blame Yvette one bit if the two of them were still in bed together right now," if her words were trying to rile Roland's feathers, they weren't working.  
  
"You say the two of them left the restaurant together, did you see what kind of car they were in? I'm not going to hunt them down or anything if you're worried about that, but I am a bit worried," Roland assured them.  
  
"It was a late model black Jaguar," Susannah said after giving him a long look to judge his sincerity. Apparently, he had passed. Roland felt an inane urge to raise a fist in victory. Maybe in Emily's face. That could be amusing. Before he could seriously consider actually performing such an action, Susannah went on. "And his name was Sands,"  
  
"Sands? Did he have a first name?" Roland asked, committing the name and the description of the car to memory.  
  
Susannah frowned and turned to Emily, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I wasn't concerned with names. That man was sex on a stick. He could have been named Bobo for all I care," Susannah rolled her eyes at this and turned back to Roland.  
  
"I don't think he ever told us his first name. I would have remembered it if he had," she said, casting her eyes down to the floor as if she were embarrassed that she hadn't asked him for his first name. Actually, knowing what kind of person Susannah was, Roland was legitimately surprised that she'd overlook such a major detail as that one. She was usually the Agent who did things by the book in all cases. Finding out his entire name would have been her first course of action. He must have been something else. Either that or maybe he had hypnotized them.  
  
Roland let out a brief chuckle at the image of a man in a magician's black tux and top hat waving a gloved hand in front of the three women's eyes, inviting them to look at the spinning spiral on the wall. This chuckle unfortunately received a glare from both Emily and Susannah, so he put a lid on his laughter, and motioned for her to continue.  
  
"What else can you tell me about him? What did he look like?" Roland asked, trying to look serious once more, trying to remember his worry for Yvette. For as much as he didn't care who she slept while she wasn't sleeping with him, he did care what happened to her. He had grown fond of her at least, and he didn't want to see her hurt.  
  
"I think I'll let Emily handle that one. Let's just say, I think she noticed quite a bit more than I did," Susannah said with a knowing glance in her friend's direction.  
  
"Oh come on, you noticed just as much as I did and you know it!" Emily grumbled, slumping on the opposite bed. Roland, who had been standing all this time, took this as his cue and pulled out one of the chairs on wheels against the wall of the room and sat down in it, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his feet aching in his brightly polished black dress shoes. He would have been glad to have sat down when he first came inside, but there was no way in hell he would have sat before Emily did. It was a manner of willpower, and he had prevailed. But now his feet were praying the price of his ego.  
  
Susannah didn't take the bait from Emily's statement, so she merely huffed a little and went on. "Ok fine, he was about 5'10'' give or take, lean build, shoulder-length black hair, and brown eyes. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, and he was well off judging by his clothes and car. Not to mention his attitude," Emily said with a smile, clearly remembering this man in a fond light.  
  
Roland refused once more to be jealous. "What do you mean he looked well- off because of his clothes? What was he wearing?" he asked.  
  
"He was wearing an expensive looking red wine colored silk button up shirt and tight black dress pants. And boy did he look good in them," Emily cut herself off and waved a hand in front of her face as if to cool herself. This time Roland did roll his eyes, and glancing at Susannah, he saw that he wasn't the only one.  
  
"Tell me more about his attitude then. Did he seem dangerous in any way? Enough for you to worry now that you haven't seen her since last night?"  
  
"There was something about him," Susannah muttered. "Although he was indeed very charming, and didn't actually do anything for me to suspect him, there was just something about him that unsettled me. I even made sure Yvette remembered her purse and gun before they left," Susannah added, giving Roland a direct look.  
  
"I'm trying to understand here. You said he felt a bit dangerous to you, but it wasn't anything he did or said. Then what was it?" Roland asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at both of them for answers.  
  
"Hey, don't look at me. I just thought he looked sexy. These were all Sus' thoughts, not mine," Emily said with a wave of her hand in Susannah's direction.  
  
"I guess it was the way he acted, like he was trying to put on a show for us. Like he was pretending to be someone he wasn't," Emily said quietly.  
  
"Oh come on, Sus. All men do that. They just do it to impress women. It doesn't usually work as well though," Emily trailed off, thinking of the way she had felt when he had kissed her hand.  
  
Roland felt inclined to defend his gender for some reason after that statement, but didn't get a chance as Susannah went on. "And you should have seen the expression on his face when he thought we weren't watching him, Emily. I don't think I've ever seen anything so cold and soulless before," Emily shuddered as she thought of the look she had covertly witnessed while her two friends had been concerned with *other* matters.  
  
"Surely you're overreacting a little," Roland said with a smile, humoring her. "I mean, *soulless?* That's a pretty strong word, if I do say so myself. Are you sure you weren't imagining it?" Roland asked as kindly as possible, but he could feel his sarcastic nature peeking its head out, annoyed at not getting a chance to play.  
  
"I know what I saw!" Susannah shouted, causing both Roland and Emily to gasp. Susannah was many things, but she was definitely not the shouting type. But Susannah wasn't deterred by their disbelief, and plowed on. "I'm not the type of woman to see evil men in every stranger I meet. There was something not right about this man, and I saw it even if no one else did!"  
  
Roland raised his hands in a placating gesture, not wanting to further upset the hysterical woman, and spoke calmly, "I believe you, Susannah. And I'll find out what happened to Yvette, I promise you that. If she's fine and merely having a good time and forgot about the meeting we can all laugh about this later. If not...well, if she isn't, I'll find this Sands character and deal with him accordingly," with that, he stood up from his chair, nodded his thanks to both women, and left the room, determined to find this Sands character and find out just what the hell was going on.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Sorry there wasn't much SJ in this chapter. I felt I had to get Roland's introduction out of the way, and then Emily and Susannah came along and both wanted their moment in the spotlight, how was I to deny them? I promise I'll make it up to you next chapter. Until then. 


	5. Here There Be Monsters

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but the voice inside his head, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.  
  
Characters: SJ, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, CIA, and a few others.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who have given your support to this fic, you know who you are. And to my reviewers, your comments are what keeps me writing for all of you. Thanks so much!!!  
  
Also, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. For right now he's simply an everyday seemingly normal rich kid who likes to kill people. ;-)  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and some graphic imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Five: Here There Be Monsters  
  
Sands sat up on the hard mattress and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He had never felt wearier in all his life. Even the short nap he had taken didn't offer him any real rest. His sleep had been filled with horrible nightmares of blood and death. What really plagued his thoughts was the fact that he had a horrid suspicion that his nightmares had been real. There was no use lying to himself any longer. He had murdered Yvette. He had murdered Rhonda. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember the former, that didn't change the fact that he had stabbed her over and over and over again.  
  
Thinking back on the large number of knife wounds he had seen on Yvette's bloodied body he shuddered. It was likely that he had continued to stab her even after her death. The thought of mindlessly stabbing a defenseless woman over and over again with seemingly no regret whatsoever was sobering to say the least.  
  
'Good, at least you're finally beginning to accept it, Sheldon,' the voice inside his head whispered, stressing the last syllable of his hated name mockingly.  
  
Sands also knew that he was more than likely insane. It was an intelligent man. He knew that normal people didn't kill strangers and then forget about it every day. And they most definitely didn't have arguments with voices inside of their heads.  
  
'You got that right, Einstein,' the voice sneered. Sands was getting tired of this.  
  
"Listen you, whatever you are. I don't have time to go insane! I've got two fucking dead women in the bathtub that I need to deal with! So if you could just shut the fuck up and go back to wherever you came from, that would make my day,"  
  
'There's only one woman in the bathtub. Rhonda was many things, but definitely *not* a woman,' the voice added cheerfully.  
  
Sands pressed his hands at the side of his skull and for a very brief minute considered taking Yvette's handgun and painting the walls with his brains. But from the sounds of this voice inside his head, that was just what it wanted. So he would persevere. He would get through this...whatever it was, and everything would go back to normal.  
  
'You're a fool if you think everything is going to simply go back to normal after all of this is over, Sheldon. I'm a part of you, I always have been, but this is the first time you have ever been aware.'  
  
"Aware? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why am I arguing with you? You're not even fucking real," Sands spit, swinging his feet to the floor. He decided he had better check on the progress of the lye. He hadn't looked at the clock before falling asleep, and now had no idea how much time had passed.  
  
'I'm not real am I, Sheldon? Do you really believe that? You are in my control. I am just as real as you are. Do you honestly think that you could have simply forgotten murdering Yvette? You are a simple son of a bitch, but you're not stupid. You don't remember it because you weren't there. Not really. I was out to play, and when that happens there is nothing you can do to stop me.'  
  
Sands didn't want to think about this so he simply ignored the voice and got up off of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Upon opening the bathroom door, he quickly yanked his head back and brought a hand up to his face to cover his nose and mouth, trying vainly to block the smell. God the place reeked. In all his careful planning on how to get rid of Yvette's body, he had forgotten to consider just what a messy job it would be.  
  
Finally taking a deep breath to calm his revolting stomach at such a smell, he stepped inside and cast his eyes to the bathtub. The two bodies in the tub were hardly recognizable as human any longer. The lye had done its work well, and Sands had to fight back a gag the mess of bones and dissolved flesh before him. In a few more hours there would most likely be nothing left of his two victims, nothing left to tie him to their murders.  
  
'Except for the bloodied knife in your sink,' the voice whispered casually. 'Oh, and the fact that your Jag's been parked in plain sight out front all night. That certainly doesn't help matters either.'  
  
"What?! What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean there's a bloody knife in my kitchen sink! If you left it there for the housekeeper to find, by God I'll----"  
  
'You'll what? You stupid idiot, I'm you, remember? You can't do anything to me without doing it to yourself first, you moronic bastard,' the voice sneered.  
  
Sands grit his teeth and held back a snarl in frustration. He would deal with getting rid of his insanity, for that certainly seemed to be what it was, later. Right now he had bigger problems. For all he knew, his housekeeper had found the knife already and called the police.  
  
'Don't be an idiot; she probably thinks you just cut yourself. Don't freak out quite yet, Sheldon. You know what I'd be more worried about? Yvette's friends at the bar. Do you really think they're just going to forget about her? Not to mention the lovely fact that she worked for the CIA. I think you're in over your head on that one, Sheldon,' if the voice had a face, other than Sands' own of course, he knew it would have been smirking.  
  
"It was you who killed her, not me!" Sands shouted, unable to keep the defensive and somewhat petulant tone from his voice. "And how was I supposed to know she worked for the fucking CIA? It's not as if she was wearing a name tag you know," Sands grumbled, resolved to an argument with 'himself' no matter how foolish it seemed at the moment.  
  
'She told you, you dumb bastard. Remember? She told you that she worked for the CIA. She said she was just a glorified secretary. God, do I have to do everything for you?' the voice asked irritably.  
  
Sands didn't answer. He was too caught up in remembering his and Yvette's night together. She had told her she worked for the CIA. Why had he forgotten that? "You're fucking up my memory somehow, you bastard," he mumbled to the voice.  
  
'Well that's not very nice, Sheldon. You and I both know that you're not a bastard. An orphan maybe after you murdered our parents but not a bastard. So it's kind of useless to be calling me one since as you very well are now aware, I am you.'  
  
"Just shut up and let me think. What were the two girl's names?" he paused a moment to remember, the voice not offering him any help. "Emily and Susannah. Yes, that's right. Fuck, they didn't tell me their last names did they?"  
  
'No they didn't, but that's ok. You didn't tell them our first,' the voice said, and Sands smiled widely and made his way back into the main area of the motel room and sat down on the bed.  
  
"That's true. It should make us harder to find should they come looking. Although, we need to get rid of that damned car," if Sands was now aware he was referring to himself in the plural, he made no sign.  
  
'Agreed. I never really liked that car anyway. Sure, it's nice. And black is definitely our favorite color, but it seems too...I don't know, help me out here, Sheldon,' the voice implored, and Sands didn't hesitate to answer.  
  
"Conspicuous?" Sands supplied.  
  
"Well yeah, dumbass, you should have thought of that earlier. But it also seems too clichéd somehow. The bad guy always drives an expensive sporty black car,'  
  
"So I'm the bad guy now, am I?" Sands asked with a small smirk at the prospect of being notorious.  
  
'No, that would be me,' the voice insisted.  
  
Sands spread his hands as if to say, 'exactly.' "And just who are you? Or is it my imagination that I seem to be having a conversation with myself. Or my alter ego. Or...just what the hell are you, anyway? You're sure as fuck not my conscience."  
  
'You don't have one. You're a sociopath," the voice informed him causally. 'You always have been, but I think you just never noticed until now. And as for me? Who the fuck knows who I am? I'd say I'm most likely an alternate personality. You're the one with the fucking masters in abnormal psychology. You tell me fuckwit.'  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at this. He might have mockingly chided the voice for his colorful language, but he frowned at the thought that it was *his* colorful language as well. Damn, this was getting complicated. "What do I call you then? This is getting confusing. And stop calling me Sheldon you bastard!" he grumbled.  
  
'What's the matter Shel-don,' the voice drawled the syllables of his hated name slowly. 'Don't you like your name? Our mother gave you that name. You should be ashamed,' the voice chided.  
  
"Our mother was a fucking twit. I can't say I'm entirely sorry that I killed her; or my father either, for that matter," he added the last as an afterthought and shrugged.  
  
'See? Told you that you were a sociopath,' the voice commented happily.  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Sands said with a wave of his hand. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you have a name? I'm getting pretty fucking tired of referring you to the voice inside my head, which you undoubtedly are, but a name might be easier on what few shreds of sanity I have left,"  
  
'Fine fuckmook, you want a name? I'll be Jeffery. You can be Sheldon, or fucking Sands if you want to whine about it, I don't care, and I'll be Jeffery. Satisfied you bastard?'  
  
Sands knew that he shouldn't have been encouraging the voice inside his head by giving it a name like a real person, but he didn't feel as if he had any other choice at the moment. And being able to put a name to this previously unidentifiable presence did calm his nerves a bit. "Oh, a bastard are we now?" he stressed the plural this time. "I thought you said earlier that we weren't a bastard. But whatever, I don't want to get into another fucking debate over this. Fine, Jeffery it is then. And I'll stick to Sands, thank you very much. The day I go by Sheldon is the day I blow our brains out," he swore empathetically.  
  
'Well I certainly as hell don't want that to be happening any time soon, so fine. Sheldon is out, Sands is in. Do we have an agreement?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands started as his left hand rose of its own volition as if to shake hands.  
  
Sands frowned, his brow furrowing, but raised his right hand to awkwardly shake his left. Once that was done, his left hand fell away as if it had never moved. "Yes, we have a deal. As long as you never do that ever again. That was fucking creepy," Sands said with a slight shiver.  
  
'Aww, is poor Sands afraid of me?' Jeffery mocked, and Sands sneered as the middle finger of his left hand raised in a rude gesture.  
  
"Fuck you," Sands said, grabbing at his left hand.  
  
'Oh no, fuck *you*, Sands. We are the same person, after all. Don't forget," Jeffery said cheerfully.  
  
"God you're annoying. Why don't you just leave me alone and I can go back to my normal life?" Sands asked with a frown, giving up in attempting to control his rebellious left hand.  
  
'Are you really stupid enough to believe that anything can go back to normal after this, Sands? You've killed people. We've killed people. That's not going to change even if I go away and never come back. Which I'm not going to do, by the way,' Jeffery said with a smirk evident in his voice.  
  
Sands sighed. "No, I didn't really believe you would. But it was nice to fantasize about for a minute," he added snarkily.  
  
'You're pathetic. You know that?' Jeffrey paused and Sands got the feeling that he was considering something. 'I'm tired of this god-awful cheap and reeking motel room. Let's have ourselves a day out, huh?'  
  
Sands looked to the small digital clock on the bedside table. It was nearly lunchtime and he hadn't even had any breakfast yet. "Alright, I could use something to eat anyway," Sands agreed, rising to his feet and grabbing his jacket from the top of one of the chairs in the room.  
  
Not even bothering to look in the bathroom tub again, he closed and locked the door behind him and walked down the hallway, whistling softly under his breath.  
  
***  
  
Roland made his way to the Yellow Chicken, the Mexican place Yvette had met the mysterious stranger in and walked through the large glass door. The place was buzzing with activity since it was lunchtime, but he had figured it would be the best opportunity to talk to someone about Mr. Sands. He sincerely hoped nothing had happened last night between him and Yvette other than a good time, but some part of him worried.  
  
He frowned in remembrance of Susannah's reaction to the looks she swore she had seen from the man. He had never before seen her as flustered as she had been then. She was a woman of reason and logic, and yet here she was calling a man soulless? It boggled the mind. And he didn't think she had been hysterical either. He had seen hysterical women in his life and tried his best to stay away from them, his wife included, and Susannah hadn't been hysterical in the least. Well, maybe she had when she yelled at him and Emily, but other than that she was practically as calm and collected as she always was.  
  
Pushing such disturbing thoughts away for now, he made his way to the back of the restaurant and stopped one of the waitresses there. "Excuse me, Miss? My name is Agent Rivers of the CIA. I have a few questions I need to ask of you and the rest of the staff," the girl's eyes widened at the sight of his opened CIA badge.  
  
"Uh, sure," the girl stammered. "Let me just get my manager, ok? I'll be right back," she said with a nervous smile.  
  
"Of course," he looked at her nametag, "Julie. Take your time. But do ask anyone who was working late last night and is here now that I would like to speak to them as well. I will be sitting in that booth over there," Roland said, gesturing to a vacant booth against one of the walls in the dining room.  
  
Julie merely nodded and ran off into the kitchen as if he had waved a gun in her face and threatened to blow her kneecaps off. Roland shook his head wryly and chuckled briefly at the imagery. Not that he would ever do anything like that, of course. He merely liked the thought of being feared; even if the one who feared him was just a timid waitress in a Mexican restaurant. You had to start somewhere right? He chucked again and nearly chastened himself for being cruel. But it wasn't as if he had done anything to actually scare the girl after all. It was unlikely she had even seen his gun, let alone had it waved in her face. She had just gotten spooked by the badge, which was understandable, and Roland had let his overactive imagination run wild.  
  
Before he could dig himself into moral dilemma either further, beautiful looking Mexican woman walked over to his table and he rose instinctively from his chair. His mother had taught him something about manners concerning women after all.  
  
The woman smiled at his civility and held out a hand which he shook firmly, but not harshly. "I'm Mrs. Sprout. I'm the manager here. Now what seems to be the problem, Agent Rivers, was it?" she asked, taking a seat across from him in the booth.  
  
"Please, call me Roland, Mrs. Sprout," he said, trying to hold back a snort of laughter at the name. He was mostly successful. This was no time for jokes, after all. And it certainly wouldn't do his credibility any good to burst out laughing whenever he heard something funny. Especially when he was trying his damndest to remain serious and focussed on the task at hand.  
  
"Only if you call me Marta, Roland," she said with a smile. "I can see you have the same reaction to my married name that most people do. I'm not insulted or anything. My husband and I joke about it all the time," she finished with a musical laugh.  
  
Roland found himself transfixed by her voice, a rich alto with a subtle Spanish accent that made it seem even more breathtaking. And that was only her voice. She had long rich black hair that kissed the table top as she leaned slightly towards him to talk. And her body, dear God, he felt his pants growing tight just from the sight of her. She had the natural grace and beauty that a model would sell her soul for. He wasn't deterred from the modest looking engagement ring and wedding band glinting in the candlelight on the table. He was a married man himself. That certainly hadn't stopped him from sleeping with Yvette, and if Marta had been interested, he would have bedded her in a heartbeat. "Marta it is, then. I only have a few questions for you and perhaps some members of your staff, and then I'll let you get on with your day," he cleared his throat and she nodded in agreement. "First of all, were you working late last night? Say around 10 or so?"  
  
"Yes, I was working then. Why? What is this all about?" she asked, a concerned look on her face. "And why is the CIA involved?"  
  
Roland raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you or any of your employees. I'm looking for a woman who was in here last night. Her name was Yvette St. Martin. I have a picture of her," he trailed off as he reached a hand to pull out his wallet from his back pants pocket and fished out a picture of the two of them together on a long weekend while his wife had been on a business trip. He handed the picture to Marta who fingered it thoughtfully before going on. "She was in here last night with two of her friends. They sat at the bar and ordered a few drinks. Yvette met a man while she was here and went home with him. The reason I'm questioning you about her, is that she never came back,"  
  
"Is this woman your wife? Is that why you're so concerned about this?" Marta asked, frowning at him.  
  
Roland sighed. "No, she's not my wife, and that isn't why I'm looking for her. I'm looking for her because she missed a very important meeting today, and that's completely unlike her. I have a feeling that something happened to her. I've talked to her two friends, they're associates of mine, and they're convinced that there was something wrong as well. I'm not going to run off and kill him in a fit of jealous rage, if that's why you're hesitant to give me information. I simply want to know Yvette's safe. That's all, I swear," Roland laid a hand across his heart to emphasize this fact.  
  
She seemed somewhat satisfied by this and stood from the booth, causing Roland to stand as well. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'd like to take this picture back to the kitchen and ask my staff if they know anything."  
  
Roland glanced briefly over in the direction she would be going and smirked. She wouldn't have to go as far as the kitchen to ask questions. It looked as if the entire staff of the restaurant was gathered in a tight group, each person focussed on his table. He smirked as more than a few of the people had turned away in embarrassment or fear when they caught him looking back at them.  
  
"Of course you can. Take your time. I shall remain here," Roland said, nodding his head to her slightly.  
  
"Thank you. I won't be long," Marta said, and then turned to embrace the group. Roland sat back down and pretended to examine his silverware while in fact he was straining his ears to hear Marta's entire conversation. He couldn't hear much over the din of the restaurant however, so he slumped back in his seat and resigned himself to wait.  
  
Not five minutes later, true to her word, Marta returned with a few friends this time. He once again rose as she approached the table. "This is Ryan, our bartender, and Christopher, one of our waiters," Marta said, gesturing to each man in turn.  
  
Roland shook hands with each of them and pulled up a chair from a nearby table, and gestured for each of them to sit down. Marta took one side of the booth, and the two gentlemen took the other. Roland sat in the chair at the head of the table.  
  
Marta leaned over and handing him back the picture which Roland laid on the table in front of them. "So both of you saw Miss St. Martin last night?" he asked of the two gentlemen.  
  
"She and two other women, a sultry looking redhead and a kind brunette were sitting at the bar ordering drinks. I didn't pay much attention to their conversation until they came up with an idea for a bet," the bartender started.  
  
"A bet?" Roland questioned, Emily and Susannah had neglected to mention this. "What kind of a bet?"  
  
"They bet Ms. St. Martin to go over to take a seat at a table of a man they had been eyeing all evening long."  
  
"A man? Do you know what this man's name was?" Roland hated to interrupt, but he had to know if he was on the right track and that this was the guy Yvette had gone home with.  
  
"I do. I was his waiter last night, Agent Rivers," the waiter said and Roland didn't bother to ask him to call him by his first name. This was business, and he had to act professionally. That meant titles. "His name was Sands, S.J. Sands on his credit card, and he's a regular. He always orders the same thing too," Christopher said with a bit of a bemused smile.  
  
"Oh really? What's that?" Roland asked, trying to get a little bit more information about the man he was looking for. If he ordered the exact same thing every single time, that meant he was predictable and Roland could use that to his advantage.  
  
"Puerco Pubil and a tequila with lime," the waiter said. "And he orders it just like that too," the man added with a small smile. "The girl came over to the table and they chatted for a while, ordered some more drinks, and left. I didn't hear much of their conversation, I was busy with other tables, sorry," the man looked down at the table, genuinely ashamed that he couldn't be more help.  
  
"That's quite alright. I'm more interested in a good description of him. I don't suppose either of you can draw?" Roland asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.  
  
"Actually, I can," Marta spoke up. "You want an accurate drawing of him, correct? While I didn't talk to Mr. Sands in person last night, he is a regular here like Ryan said and I think I could draw him well enough to meet your needs," she rose from her chair again, and this time all thee men rose with her. "I'll go get some paper, I'm sure we have some in the back. If you would excuse me gentlemen," all three nodded and waited until she was headed back to the kitchen before taking their seats again. There was just something about her that inspired a man to be on his best behavior. Roland didn't know what it was, but he found it quite intriguing.  
  
"Can either of you tell me anything more about Mr. Sands?" he asked of the two men in front of him. "Any other habits or traits that you might have noticed?"  
  
"He was a real smooth-talker with the other ladies. He kissed both of them on the hand and I thought I was gonna puke at their giggling," Ryan supplied thoughtlessly, his eyes widening when he realized what he had said, and more important, who he had said it in front of. "I mean," he began, but Roland cut himself off with a hand.  
  
"I completely understand. I always hated men like that too," Roland said with a short chuckle and a small smile, the mood a little lighter now because of it.  
  
"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a laugh. "But there was something else about him too. The brunette, Susannah, I think her name was, seemed to notice as well. For all the charm he seemed to be laying on the three of them, and believe me it was thick, there was something cold about him that Ms. St. Martin didn't seem to notice. Or didn't care to. Susannah made a point to remind her to remember her purse and I'd bet a month's salary that it had a weapon of some type in it. She saw what I did. There was something dangerous about him, and that she should be careful," he said with a small shiver.  
  
"What do you mean, 'something dangerous about him?' What was it?" Roland questioned, more confused now than ever. Susannah had said something along the same lines. What was it about this man that made people afraid of him? Especially when he was obviously trying to be charming?  
  
"I don't know man, it's kind of hard to explain," Ryan said, running a hand through his short black hair in frustration. "It seemed like he was trying too hard, you know? Like he was putting on an act and forcing a smile."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Roland asked, and he could see that Christopher was in rapt attention as well.  
  
"Well, you should have seen the look on his face when neither as he turned to grab Ms. St. Martin's coat and no one could see him except me. It freaked the shit out of me man, I'm not ashamed to say it. The smile dropped off of his face as if it had been painted on, and his eyes turned to stone. That was the thing that creeped me out the most. His eyes. They were really dark, almost black, and no matter how wide his smile, those black eyes stayed cold. But then when he turned back to the three, his smile came back looking just as natural as if he had been smiling the whole time," Ryan finished with a shake of his head. "If this guy did something to that nice looking lady, shoot him for me, Agent Rivers," the man said solemnly, looking Roland directly in the eye.  
  
"I promise," Roland said quietly. The man nodded and the three of them rose once more as Marta approached the table, a piece of paper fluttering in her hand.  
  
"This is your man, Agent Rivers," she whispered, laying the piece of paper in front of him. "It didn't take me nearly as long as I thought it would. I guess I paid him more attention than I thought I did. His eyes especially," she added as an afterthought, taking a seat in the booth once more.  
  
The three men took their seats and Roland looked down at the drawing before him, amazed at its detail. The face of his quarry seemed to leap out at him from the page just has he had imagined it. And his eyes did indeed look cold. Marta had drawn him with a bit of a smirk on his face, but the smirk was mocking and if you looked at it just right, it looked more like a sneer.  
  
So this was the supposed 'sex on a stick,' man that Emily had gone on about. Roland didn't really see the fascination. Ok, yeah, he was masculine enough to admit that the man was handsome, and he even managed to pull off the shoulder-length hairstyle without looking feminine, but beyond that he didn't see anything too appealing about him.  
  
"This is most helpful, Mrs. Spout. You have a true gift," he said, taking his eyes off of the picture. Marta simply inclined her head in thanks and he went on. "I don't suppose any of you saw in which direction his car, supposedly a late model black Jaguar went?" he asked of the three.  
  
"I think I can do better than that," Marta said quietly, and he turned his attention back to her. "I can give you this man's address," she looked at him directly and he couldn't hold back a grin of triumph. If this man Sands had done something to Yvette, he would find out about it, and just action would be taken. It was only a matter of time now.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Goodness, this chapter got a bit long, didn't it? First Sands and Jeffrey just kind of went off into their own conversation, but then Roland had to do the same. I tried to tell them that the chapter was getting too long, but they never listen to me. Oh well, please send me your reviews!!  
  
And, if any of you fine talented people out there can draw Marta's drawing well, or even not so well, or know someone who can, please do so! I would very much like to see this on paper rather than in my head. I'd try myself, but I'm afraid I'd screw it up. Anyway, if you can draw this, I'll personally dedicate the next chapter to you and be your bestest friend!! :- D 


	6. Downward Spiral

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but Jeffery, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.  
  
Characters: SJ, Jeffery, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, and a few others.  
  
Author's Note: To my lovely supporters and viewers, you know who you are, thank you ever so much!!!  
  
As always, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. This is a prequel, savvy?  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Six: Downward Spiral  
  
To any passing person on the street, the young man with shoulder-length black hair appeared as normal as any other stranger they might meet in the course of their day. Sure, he seemed to be muttering to himself about something or other, but in truth, who didn't talk to themselves on occasion? The ladies and perhaps even a few of the men might be inspired to comment on how striking the young man looked. He seemed to carry an air of mystique and hidden charm, and perhaps even a bit of danger as well about him that made the ladies swoon and the men horribly envious.  
  
If they were to move closer to him however, perhaps to find out more about this mystifying young man, their feelings would undoubtedly change. For this young man wasn't only talking to himself, he was arguing with himself like a madman, and that air of danger that seemed so appealing only moments before intensified into something resembling fear, as if someone had run cold water down your spine. No, it was better to leave this young man alone, as you would avoid a sharp stone underfoot. It was much safer that way.  
  
***  
  
Sheldon Sands was losing his mind. First of all, he couldn't go by his full name any longer and include the Jeffery, because "Jeffery" was currently having an argument with him on where to eat lunch. So, it was best to just leave that part of his name out for a while until things settled down a little...that, or until he was locked away in the mental ward of some state psychiatric hospital. Whichever came first. He was betting on the latter at this point.  
  
'I don't care if you ate there yesterday. I didn't!' Jeffery shouted, causing Sands to wince at the loud noise. 'I want Mexican, you bastard! Now do you really want me to take over to get us there, or are you going to give in like the pathetic sap that you are?'  
  
"Fuck you. That's where I met Yvette, remember? What if someone there recognizes me from last night and wants to know where the hell she is? Ever think of that, genius?"  
  
'Don't be so fucking paranoid. No one's going to recognize you. And so what if they do? The 'evidence' so to speak, is being taken care of.'  
  
"And what about that knife you so thoughtlessly left in the kitchen sink, fuckmook? What about that?" Sands yelled, sending a cold glare to an elderly woman who was staring at him as he walked down the street arguing with Jeffery. The woman gasped and quickly averted her gaze.  
  
Jeffery simply laughed and Sands frowned. "What are you laughing about?" Sands growled out, his voice cold and hard.  
  
'Fuckmook? I see you've taken to using my vocabulary now, Sheldon. Congratulations. You're becoming more and more like me every day. Did you realize that you've stopped caring what other people think of you? Look at how you reacted to that old hag's stare. You probably knocked a good ten years off of her life, years that I don't think she could afford to spare.' Sands found himself smirking, but he had not moved a muscle. Jeffrey continued. 'You've lost all regard for humanity. You no longer care what they think of you. You could care less about them. Their lives, their jobs, their starter homes, their dogs, their kids, their deaths, these things mean nothing to you now. You're arguing with me, with yourself, in the middle of the street in broad daylight without regard for the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Face it Sheldon, you're a sociopath; just like I've said all along. You have no regard for anyone but yourself.'  
  
"Don't...call...me...Sheldon!" Sands screamed at the top of his lungs, causing more than a few people to stop and gape at him on the busy street. Sands saw them and his body went still and silent. His hand itched for his gun. If he had had it in his hand right now he would have blown every shocked and disgusted look off of their faces. Every last one. The sudden realization of what his hand was about to do, it had been reaching ever so slowly to the waistband of his pants where he had put the gun, dawned on him, and he shoved his way through the whispering crowd and made his way along the street before he really did kill someone. Again.  
  
He didn't know why he was out walking in the first place. He had gotten in his Jag and driven aimlessly before parking it in an overpriced parking garage and continuing his way on foot. His walking seemed to be rather aimless as well, that was until he stopped in a rather familiar looking restaurant. "You devious bastard," Sands mumbled under his breath, not wanting to cause another scene. Hanging high above his head was a childish and fanciful rendering of a yellow chicken plastered to the front of a somewhat respectable looking building, but nothing he was normally accustomed to given his wealth and liking of the fancier restaurants in town, even if it was in only the snobbish sense. In truth, he preferred the food and atmosphere from places like this, but his ego didn't often allow him to indulge. He didn't seem to be having any problems with it at the moment. More of Jeffery's influence, no doubt. The conniving bastard just had to have his way, didn't he?  
  
'I most certainly do. I told you, I want Mexican. I wasn't taking no for an answer," Jeffery seemed to hesitate, 'Sands,' he finally finished.  
  
Sands' eyes widened fractionally at Jeffery's use of his name. Apparently, he had gotten the message and didn't want to create another scene either. At least, not at the moment. Something told him that his alternate personality liked to cause scenes. Perhaps he even reveled in the attention, something Sands himself had never really wanted. He had always been happier sitting at the back of a restaurant or shop merely observing others while striving himself to blend in with his surroundings as to not be observed himself. It had taken practice, but he thought he was rather good at it now.  
  
"Fine, have your fucking Mexican. Just remember, it'll be *our* ass if someone in there remembers us...me, from last night and questions Yvette's disappearance," Sands said with a frown, pushing at the glass doors and entering the restaurant. Upon entering, he was nearly pushed to the ground by a tall platinum-blonde man in a dark suit and tie that seemed to be focussed on a sheet of paper held in front of his face. The man mumbled some sort of apology without looking up, clearly he was lost in his own thoughts about whatever was on the piece of paper and made his way out of the restaurant before Sands had time to react.  
  
'Who the fuck was that? That was fucking rude,' Jeffery commented, and Sands rolled his eyes.  
  
"Do you want me to go after him? Perhaps I should bash his head in with a tire iron for bumping into me? Would that make you happy?" Sands mumbled sarcastically.  
  
Jeffery seemed to contemplate this idea just long enough to make Sands worry before saying, 'Nah, I'm hungry. But if we see him again, then definitely. With the tire iron, like you said.' Sands felt himself nodding in agreement to something he most definitely did not agree with.  
  
"You're psychotic," Sands mumbled, appalled.  
  
'Yeah, and you're sociopathic. What are you going to do? And technically it's also you who's psychotic since I'm not real. Fuck, you sure do have a lot of problems,' Jeffrey said mockingly, and Sands felt the smirk that wasn't his own once more.  
  
"Just shut the fuck up, the fucking manager is coming over here and I don't want to argue anymore," Sands mumbled, putting on a wide forced smile for the manager's benefit. He had talked to the woman before, even knew her name, Mrs. Marta Sprout. He had never actually been told the information, but had overheard one of the waitresses use it and had committed it to his memory. He quickly straightened out the wrinkles his black silk shirt had acquired while sleeping on the motel room bed and looked up to greet her.  
  
"Mr...Sands. What a surprise to see you," Martha spoke hesitantly.  
  
Sands' eyes narrowed at this. She was nervous around him. She suspected something. Fuck, he knew it had been a mistake to come here. "A surprise, Mrs. Sprout, how so?" He asked as calmly as he could under the circumstances.  
  
She seemed to be startled that he knew her name, which was just the reaction he had been looking for when he used it. But to her credit, she continued on without too much hesitation. "I simply meant that you are dining with us again so soon. You were in here last night, were you not?"  
  
'She's testing you. She knows you were in here last night. She saw you, remember?' Jeffery whispered to him.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I was. What can I say, I have a weakness for Mexican food," Sands said, putting on another wide smile. "Especially from this place."  
  
Marta smiled rather thinly herself and held out a hand in the direction of the main dining area. "Of course, Mr. Sands. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"  
  
"Golly, either you're short staffed for lunch, or I just became a valued customer. To be seated by the manager herself," Sands winked at her as he moved to follow.  
  
"Oh, it was the second, I assure you, Mr. Sands," Marta said, seating him at a rather nice table near the front of the restaurant. She handed him the menu that she had picked up from the hostess' station and smiled again, a bit more full and at ease this time, "Enjoy your meal, Mr. Sands." With that, she turned on her heel without waiting for a reply and quickly headed back into the kitchen.  
  
'What do you think that was all about?' Jeffery asked, and Sands frowned.  
  
"I'm not sure. She seemed afraid of us somehow. There's definitely something going on here. I told you it was a fucked up idea to come. But no, you simply had to have your fucking Mexican, didn't you?" Sands grumbled under his breath. He looked down at the menu in his hands and didn't even bother opening it. He knew what he wanted; now if only the fucking waitress would get over here he could order, eat, and get the hell out of here as soon as possible.  
  
After the waitress had finally come and taken his order, Sands sat back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. There was a somewhat large group of people in the restaurant for lunch, their voices creating a din that while it was loud, wasn't nearly as loud as it would have been at dinner time. People seemed to be more soft spoken and polite at lunch for some unknown reason. Turning his head in the direction Marta had gone, he noticed her standing in front of the swinging kitchen doors with two men, both of whom he recognized from last night. Marta was standing in the middle of the trio speaking rather frantically into a black cellphone, and all 6 eyes were focussed on only one thing in the restaurant; his table. Once they caught his glance, each one of them seemed to gasp in stereo and turned away in unison as if choreographed.  
  
'You see that?' Jeffery whispered, his voice sounding worried. 'Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here, after all,' he admitted slowly.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes, not commenting on that one any further than he already had. There was nothing he could really do about the trio at the moment if they were indeed talking about him, and he refused to be rousted from his lunch for anyone. He smirked and fought the urge to send the trio a wave. If he had thought it wouldn't have frightened the trio back into the kitchen where he could no longer observe them, he certainly would have. The three were a threat and would have to be dealt with accordingly.  
  
***  
  
Roland entered the main lobby of Lindvale Court, the high-priced apartment building that housed one S. J. Sands in the penthouse suite. He couldn't help his jaw drop a bit in shock. From the expensive crystal chandeliers to the marble floors and pillars, the place practically reeked of money. He merely stood and gaped before a man dressed in a black coat with tails stopped silently and politely at his shoulder.  
  
"May I help you with something, sir?" the man asked casually, snapping Roland out of his daydreams and back into the world around him.  
  
"Er, yes actually. I'm looking for someone that lives in this building," Roland said, giving the man his full attention and putting the ritzy scenery out of his mind.  
  
"May I inquire whom, sir?" the man asked in that same polite and unflappable tone of voice.  
  
"A Mr. S. J. Sands," Roland asked, affecting his own imperturbable tone of voice. Two could play at this game.  
  
"Mr. Sands is one of our most respected residents. Is he expecting you?" Roland shook his head. "Then I must ask you to leave. We do not allow strangers up into the building without an invitation." The man turned and walked back to his place behind the desk without another word.  
  
Roland saw red. This snooty little man needed a right cross to the face. He bet he'd get let up then. Or, taken away in handcuffs. Damn. He would have to play this cool. He took a deep breath and made his way over to the desk. "You are correct; I do not have proper invitation to go up into Mr. Sands' apartment. But will this do as a substitute?" He pulled out his badge and laid it on the table, his shield glinting beautifully in the soft overhead light. The man's eyes widened fractionally as he laid his eyes upon the badge. Roland held down a smirk in victory and then leaned over the desk, using his superior height to intimidate the man even further. "I do beg your pardon; I forgot to introduce myself when I entered," he looked down on the man's suit coat and read the name tag there, "Ashley," he paused a moment to take in this information. "Ashley?! Good Lord, I'm sorry man, your parents must have hated you," Roland couldn't help but comment confronted with such a ridiculous name.  
  
"Anyway, I'm Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. I know, my name's not much better, I didn't mean to criticize," he said with a wave of his hand, "but I'm here to question Mr. Sands in regards to a woman he was seen with last night. Now am I to be let up, or do I have to have you arrested for interfering with a federal officer and his duty?" This was utter bullshit of course; Roland had no right to be here. He didn't have a warrant or even necessarily probable cause, but something in his gut told him that he was in the right place. And he had learned to trust that sense almost above all others. It had kept him alive when all his others failed. He was hoping that the man before him would be intimidated enough to let him up without having seen a warrant. It wasn't legal, but he wasn't one to play by the rules when lives were at stake. Actually, he didn't really play by the rules at all, but that was better left unsaid if wanted to keep his job.  
  
"You may go up," the man stuttered frightfully, "but Mr. Sands isn't up there. He left some time early this morning," the man offered.  
  
"Do you know where he was going? When he'll be back?" To each of these the man shook his head. Roland stifled a curse before pulling out one of his business cards. The man had been almost too helpful after the right methods of persuasion, but from his earlier stance and apparent devotion to his job there would be no way the clerk would let him up into Sands' apartment while he was out. He placed the card on the clerk's desk and looked him straight in the eye. "I want you to call me as soon as he steps into the building. If he gets up to his apartment before you call me I am going to be very disappointed in you. Do you understand?" The clerk merely nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak, or unable to. Roland found he liked the second option better. It had been a long while since he had been able to intimidate a man as easily as this, and he wanted to make the most of it while it lasted. He turned on his heel to leave, surreptitiously casting a glance over his shoulder to see the clerk slump in relief. He chuckled lightly and made his way out of the building.  
  
He was going through the large revolving door when his cell phone began ringing. Cursing the timing, he quickly made his way out of the door lest he be trapped in it by some impatient jackass. Once he was free of the gyrating death-trap he pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it. "Rivers," was his only salutation.  
  
"Agent Rivers! It's Mrs. Sprout calling from the Yellow Chicken! He's here! Mr. Sands is here!" she shouted into his ear, causing Roland to wince and turn his head slightly to avoid the noise.  
  
Once what she was saying was fully absorbed into his now throbbing ears however, he gaped in shock for a few seconds before grinning widely. Well damn, talk about luck! However, his grin then fell almost immediately afterwards as something occurred to him. "Fuck!" he yelled loudly, wanting to hit someone, something, anything in his frustration. Perhaps that clerk... He had seen the man! He had nearly knocked him over for Christ's sake! "Nice one, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "You had him in your sights and you didn't even notice. Fuck," he whispered again before realizing that still had the phone in his hand and Marta had probably heard his entire outburst.  
  
"Agent Rivers?" came a timid voice from the other end of the line. Yup, sure enough. She was still there and now sounded a bit frightened of him.  
  
"Just keep him there, Marta. Whatever it takes. I'll be there as soon as I can. It's not too far from here," he said, already walking in the direction of his car. He could be there in five minutes. If he missed Sands again...no, best not to think of that now. 'Just shut the fuck up and go! He's within your grasp!' his conscience was screaming at him. He didn't bother to say goodbye before hanging up the phone and all running in the direction he had parked his car, his dark tie flapping in the wind over his shoulder.  
  
***  
  
'What the fuck is taking so long? It doesn't take that long to make Puerco Pibil, does it? And we haven't even gotten our tequila yet. This place is busy, but it's not *that* busy. Something's wrong here.' Jeffrey said, sounding a bit worried.  
  
"I think you're right. I think they're stalling; trying to keep us here. You think they called the cops?" Sands asked under his breath.  
  
'Listen here, fuckmook. I'm not really another person, got it? I'm just a voice inside your head. Now granted, I'm a fuck sight more than simply that, but I don't know anything you don't. You ask for information that you don't know, so how the fuck would I?' Jeffery grumbled irritably.  
  
Sands growled under his breath and wished Jeffery was real and sitting in front of him so he could strangle him to death. Just the thought of Jeffery's tongue hanging out of his mouth as he fought for air and his skin turning blue brought a smile to Sands' face.  
  
'That's not very nice, Sands. And boo-hoo for you it'll never happen. Unless you want to strangle yourself that is? And I don't recommend that. And why did you imagine that I looked like you? I'm much more handsome that you could ever be," Jeffery said and Sands growled again and almost considered following Jeffery up on the suggestion to strangle himself just to get him to shut the hell up.  
  
***  
  
"You see that? You see how he talks to himself? He wasn't doing that last night, was he?" Ryan asked Marta, the three of them still standing near the kitchen and observing Sands. Marta had just gotten off of the phone with Agent Rivers, and all they had to do was to keep him here for just a little while longer and then he wouldn't be their problem anymore. "I think that son of a bitch's nuts. I hope Agent Rivers keeps his word about shooting him," Ryan mumbled under his breath.  
  
"We can't stay out here for too much longer. He'll start to get suspicious. And you should probably go make his tequila with lime, Ryan. Does he really order the same thing every time he comes here, or is that just my imagination?" Chris asked the two of them.  
  
"It's not your imagination," Marta mumbled, her eyes locked on Sands' seated form. "And you're right about getting back into the kitchen. Chris, get back to work, I'm sure you have tables waiting. Ryan, make Mr. Sands' drink. I'll be at the hostess station. And all of you, if you see him get up to leave before Agent Rivers gets here, I don't want any of you to do anything stupid. Stop him if you can, but don't get in his way. Is that clear?" her tone brooked no argument.  
  
Chris immediately uttered a "Yes Ma'am," before heading back to his section of the restaurant to wait on tables. Ryan however held back.  
  
"Ryan? Did you hear what I said?" Marta asked sternly. "I don't want you confronting him. Leave that for Agent Rivers. There's nothing you can do but let him handle it," she noticed the muscles in his jaw jumped and his hands were clenched into fists, but he nodded brusquely and walked back to his place behind the bar.  
  
Marta sighed in relief. From the way he had been acting, she wouldn't be surprised if her bartender had considered taking matters into his own hands. Well, fists to be more precise. If Mr. Sands had murdered that woman, she didn't know if she would do anything to stop Ryan in his actions. That sounded horrible in her own ears, but she couldn't help feeling that way. Any woman would have had they been in her place. But if he hadn't...no, it was best to give Ryan a chance to cool down. She had to give Mr. Sands the benefit of the doubt. He could very well be innocent, and this entire situation could be a complete misunderstanding. But some small part of her doubted it. She didn't know why, but if he came to light that he had murdered Ms. St. Martin, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised. There was just something about him, something dangerous. Something that warned her to not turn her back on him for whatever reason. He was good at hiding this something behind a veil of charm and good looks, but once she had seen passed all that and learned that he was possibly capable of murder she could no longer see him in the same light. The veil had been lifted from before her eyes, and she saw him as he truly was; monstrous.  
  
She slowly walked back to the hostess' station where she tried to keep an eye on Sands while paying attention to her duty as the hostess as well. It wasn't an easy task, but she managed. She had had to take her eyes off of him for a long moment however when a couple came in and wanted a table. She forced a cheerful smile and led them to one of the tables away from Sands' area as quickly as possible. When she got back to her station, she glanced once more in his direction and started to see that he was staring straight back at her, his eyes coal-black and evil-looking in the dimmed light of the restaurant. She hurriedly crossed herself with a shaking hand before she had even realized it and looked away, but not before seeing what certainly looked to be a malicious smirk cross his face. 'Where are you, Agent Rivers?' she asked herself, praying that he would enter a moment now and put her fears to rest. The door remained shut however, and she didn't see him on the street through the window either. 'What is taking so long?'  
  
***  
  
'Get out of here. Now. I don't like this. She's scared of us. Did you see the way she crossed herself? Something's up. Get out now. Take the back; just get out for fuck's sake.' Sands agreed. The tension in the room was almost overwhelming. Something big was happening and he didn't like it. He quickly dropped enough money on the table to pay for his meal and stood up, trying to act as casual as possible, but drawing the eyes of at least three people in the room. And now, a fourth....  
  
Sands locked eyes with a new man standing at the entrance of the restaurant. Pale blue met dark almost black brown in a battle of wills. Sands didn't know who this new man was, but he recognized a nemesis when he saw one. Taking in the man's features, the tall stature, the white blonde hair, he recognized him as the man who had nearly knocked him over as he had entered the restaurant. He was obviously a member of some kind of law enforcement agency; he had that look about him. The look of unflappable calm in the face of adversity that only a police officer or federal agent could truly master. Sands tensed, not moving a muscle. And neither, he noticed, was the blonde-haired stranger. Save the fact that neither one had a gun pointed at the other, it looked almost unerringly like a Mexican stand-off; each man seemed to be poised to do the other in at the strike of the clock.  
  
***  
  
It was the officer who made the first move. Roland took a slow step towards him and Sands fidgeted so minutely that he would have missed it had he not been looking for such a reaction. Roland had to hold back a self-satisfied grin at this. Only a man who was guilty of something would be reacting in such a manner. His feeling of satisfaction quickly waned however as he remembered what he had been after Sands for in the first place. Yvette was more than likely dead now, murdered at this son of a bitch's hands. He gritted his teeth in anger and took another confident step forward, narrowing the gap between him and his quarry, but still a ways away. He only hoped Sands didn't attempt to create a scene. The restaurant was crowded with people having lunch, certainly not a place in which you wanted to draw a gun. He cursed under his breath. But if Sands had a gun on him and was stupid enough to pull it, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead. And he was an expert marksman, the top of his class at Langley. It was one of the few areas he truly excelled at. That and pissing people off. He almost smirked at the thought, but now wasn't the time. Now was the time for deadly seriousness, or someone would wind up dead. And he certainly didn't want it to be him.  
  
***  
  
Sands was fucked. Unless he could figure a quick way out of this, that is. From the way the blond law man was looking at him, it was clear he meant business. The clenching of his jaw gave him away; Sands could just make it out from this distance. The man was moving slowly, perhaps trying not to cause a scene. But from the way his left hand seemed to twitch at the side of his jacket, Sands could tell that he had a gun there and was more than willing to use it should the situation deem necessary. Sands had no intention of giving him that option.  
  
'I like making scenes,' Jeffery supplied cheerfully. 'This fucking pig doesn't want to create a scene, right? Well how about we give him a scene? Throw him off balance long enough for us to get the fuck out of this shit hole.'  
  
Sands didn't really like the sound of that, but what choice did he have? He had to get away and learn more about the man in front of him. He quickly memorized the officer's features and decided to let Jeffery come out and play.  
  
***  
  
"One tequila with lime untouched, check. One lighter, check," Jeffery quickly scanned the room for an appropriate victim. "One skanky looking old hag in close proximity, check." Jeffery reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his lighter with his left hand. 'Hmm, now that's interesting,' he thought to himself. 'When I'm in control I seem to be left-handed. How about that?'  
  
'This is no time to be thinking about things like that,' Sands whispered, his voice seemingly distant, almost too quiet for Jeffery to make out. "Fine," Jeffery acquiesced. He flicked open the lighter in his left hand, the blue flame dancing merrily on the end of its wick, and Sands picked up the glass of tequila in his right, mourning the loss of the untasted beverage. "It serves a purpose, deal with it you pussy," Jeffery muttered under his breath. He then looked up briefly to meet the officer's blue eyes head on and smiled malevolently before creating his scene.  
  
***  
  
Roland's eyes widened as his quick mind helpfully informed him of what Sands was most likely up to when he casually pulled out his lighter, and it wasn't to smoke. When he picked up the glass of tequila, his fears intensified. When he witnessed the truly cold and more than a little psychotic grin on the bastard's face, tequila in one hand, flaming lighter in the other, time stopped. The old woman's hairdo was most likely so full of hairspray that it didn't even need the tequila acting as a fuel to go into flames. But her face on the other hand...oh God, Roland prayed fervently that he would never again have to witness such a sight in his life time. Forgetting that Sands was even in the room, he ran to the woman's side, grabbing one of the napkins on the table and smothering her face and hair as quickly as he could. As it was, without a lot of intensive plastic surgery, the woman would be scarred for the rest of her life. That is, if the shock of it didn't kill her first.  
  
The first few moments after the woman had been ignited; the patrons of the restaurant simply stared dumbfounded as she screamed. No one could believe it. It was too surreal. Things like this simply did not happen in every day life. But then they heard her screams and the situation became very real, very fast. The room erupted in a panic. Meals were uneaten on plates, purses, keys and coats lay forgotten on empty tables. Roland merely lie the now passed out woman down on the ground and pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance.  
  
When the woman was carted away by scurrying paramedics, only then did Roland take stock of the scene that had played out in front of his eyes. He had had Sands within his grasp. Within his sight. He had locked eyes with the man and felt some undeniable connection. As if all of this was meant to happen some how. The two of them were meant to meet and confront each other, and may the best man win. Roland didn't really believe in fate or destiny or serendipity, or whatever you wanted to call it though. He believed in what was right in front of him. And for now, that was only one thing; Sands had to die.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Dun dun dun. Cliffhanger, I know. Look for the next chapter, Rivers and Sands, up in about a week or so. I have to update Broken Wings again before this one, that's why it'll be that long. Sorry. Anyway, please send me your reviews!! 


	7. Rivers and Sands

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but Jeffrey, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.  
  
Characters: SJ, Jeffrey, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, and a few others.  
  
Author's Note: To Miss B, my lovely beta reader, and to Halia who has created a truly awesome cover art for this story. Since ff.net eats up internet addresses, I won't put it here. But if you'd like to see it, lemme know in your reviews and I'll send you a link. It's beautiful!!  
  
And to the rest of my dear, dear reviewers, you guys make my day!! *hugs*  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Seven: Rivers and Sands  
  
Sands didn't know what the fuck was going on, but he didn't like one bit of it. He had barely made it out of the restaurant without getting caught. But now with everyone concerned about the old woman he had set on fire, he was home free. The thought had barely crossed his mind when he nearly knocked some poor unsuspecting fool to the ground in his haste.  
  
"Hey, watch the fuck where you're going, mister," the affronted man yelled at him, raising his hands to push back at him before stopping suddenly. "You! You bastard! You killed Yvette, didn't you! Agent Rivers promised to shoot you, but I guess I'll have to take care of you myself instead," the burly man ground out.  
  
'Agent Rivers? Is that the bastard that almost had us just now? At least we've got a name for him now rather than the officer.' Jeffrey pointed out. 'Now who the fuck does the moron think he is? No, don't listen to me, Sands you idiot, watch him!' Jeffrey's warning came too late as Ryan's fist connected with his nose, throwing his head to the side in a spray of blood and saliva.  
  
"I should kill you, you bastard!" the man shouted, pulling his arm back for another punch that Sands had no intention of letting him land. He pulled out the gun from the waistband of his pants and shot him twice at point- blank range in the chest, grimacing as the man's blood covered him in a hot gush. He quickly put his gun away again and continued his escape.  
  
***  
  
Roland just stood and watched at the paramedics wheeled the woman away, not bothering to chase after Sands. He was most likely long gone by now if he had any brains at all. And pulling off a stunt like this and escaping when he should have been in his custody certainly showed a brilliant mind, if more than a little psychotic. He rubbed a hand across his face and attempted to wipe some of the sweat away when he heard the shots. There was no mistaking the sound. They were gunshots, and they were close. Was it too much to hope that one of the police officers called on the scene had gotten Sands as he had been trying to escape?  
  
He tore out of the restaurant in the direction of the shots as if death itself was on his heels, pulling his handgun from its holster as he ran. He burst out through the back of the restaurant to find a small group of people gathered in a circle around a place on the ground that he could not see. But in his time spent in the CIA, he had seen such gatherings before of horrified gawkers. Either someone was horribly injured, or someone had been murdered. Although he was praying for the first, with the way his day was going it was most likely the later.  
  
He ran to the gathering shouting, "CIA! Let me through!" making sure that his gun was up in the air and pointed away from any civilians. The crowd parted as if he had threatened to shoot them if they didn't move rather than ordered them to. Once he got to the center of the circle, his eyes fell upon the body there and he crouched down to examine it more closely. It was Ryan, the bartender of the Yellow Chicken. The man that had made him promise to shoot Sands when he had him. It looked as if Sands had gotten to him first, though. He was shot twice at close range, burn marks from the muzzle flash of Sands' gun clearly visible around the edges of the wounds. Not that he had any proof that Sands had done it though, he simply knew that the bastard had. The thought that he seemed to know Sands so well gave him pause. He hadn't even met the man, for Christ's sake! But somehow, that didn't matter. He knew the man. From the moment he had met his eyes in the restaurant, Sands' dark brown colliding with his own pale blue, he knew that this was what he was meant to be doing.  
  
Roland had never been one to believe in fate, but something pulled at him in that restaurant when he had seen Sands for the first time. Something told him that Sands would single-handedly change his life forever, for better or for worse. He had tracked down criminals before, he had had to kill men in the line of duty; it was his job. But not a one of those criminals made him feel as ill at ease as Sands had. It was almost as if he could relate to him somehow, which was ridiculous because they were obviously complete opposites.  
  
Sands, while he had fair skin, was dark, slight in stature, and had the slender build of a runner. Roland was all the opposites of these. Although he did match Sands' skin tone, he had pale hair and eyes, topped 6'4'' and had a stockier build. A part of him whispered that it wasn't what was on the outside that mattered, but the inside. Their thoughts and personalities were what they really had in common. But that wasn't entirely true either, was it? Roland wasn't a criminal. Sure, he might color outside the lines of the law every once and awhile, but he had never gone so far as to actually break one of them. And he had certainly not killed anyone before. Well, anyone innocent. At least, he hoped he hadn't killed anyone innocent. But to think on that paved the road to madness, and that could not be allowed.  
  
No, he would find Sands, and make sure he got the death penalty no matter how alike they supposedly were. The odd thing about it was that he would take no pleasure from it. He should have been chomping at the bit to see a psychotic like Sands executed for the crimes he had committed, for the people he had killed, but in fact the whole situation left a rather bad taste in his mouth.  
  
He shook his head briefly to clear his thoughts and turned back to the situation at hand. He had made sure that no one touched the body until the police and an ambulance had arrived, and it was his duty to wait on scene until a detective arrived to take his statement. When he heard the tell- tale signs of sirens, however, he found that he had no intention of doing his duty. Well, not his duty concerning the dead body and the consequent interrogations with the local cops who had a thing for grilling federal agents like himself, anyway. He would shirk one duty for another. He wasn't about to let Sands get away with this. He knew where the man lived and what he looked like now. It was only a matter of time before they had their confrontation.  
  
***  
  
'Don't go back to the Jag, fuckmook. Leave it. It's no good to us anymore. I knew you shouldn't have driven that damn car,' Jeffrey grumbled. While Sands agreed, he didn't like his mistakes shoved in his face. Especially not by someone who was a part of him.  
  
"Shut up, you bastard. You think I don't know that? And the apartment's no doubt being watched as well if that Agent Rivers is half as intelligent as he seems," Sands grumbled.  
  
'Play tourist for a while, idiot,' Jeffrey suggested.  
  
"What? What do you mean, 'play tourist?'" Sands asked, clearly confused. He felt his eyes roll as Jeffrey elaborated.  
  
'Well, we are in Washington fucking DC, aren't we? Look at this place. There are tourists everywhere you fucking look. Blend fucking in. You do know how to do that, don't you?' Jeffrey said in a clearly mocking tone of voice.  
  
Sands didn't bother to comment, instead he made his way to the first gaudy gift shop he could find. The first thing he had to do was to change out of his clothes. While silk and leather was more than fun to wear and be seen in, it was also very noticeable.  
  
Upon entry of the store, his senses were immediately assaulted by the utter gaudiness of the place. His nose wrinkled, and he felt his rather snobbish upbringing crash down on him like a hammer. People like him were simply not seen at places like this.  
  
'Oh shut the fuck up, you big pussy. I swear, have you always been this stuck up? Get that stick removed from your ass and try to have some fun for once, Sheldon. God, you make me want to puke sometimes,' Jeffery said sullenly. Sands didn't know quite what to say to that, and now wasn't the time or place to respond to him anyway, so he held his tongue.  
  
"Can I help you sir?" an overweight man at the front counter called out upon hearing the chime of the bell hanging over the shop's door ring as Sands entered. The man was obviously a sports fan. Either that or a complete idiot. Most likely both. He was decked out in sports wear from head to foot. All of DC's teams were adequately represented from what he could see. The Redskins, the Capitols. Each had their place on his hulking frame.  
  
Sands had to press down his disgust at the sight of such a man before answering. "No, that's alright. I'm sure I'll be fine on my own," he said, affecting a bit of a Midwest drawl to cover his obviously local accent. If he was going to play tourist, he might as well get started.  
  
The man nodded, and turned back to his magazine. A Sport's Illustrated, Sands was unsurprised to note. He rolled his eyes and began searching through the cheap clothing racks before stopping upon something that sparked Jeffrey's attention.  
  
'Get that shirt,' Jeffrey said. It was not a request. Sands rolled his eyes and pulled out the shirt to look at it more closely. It was black with a line of white print on the left breast almost too small to make out. He held it closer to read it. "Nosey Little F'r, Aren't You?" the shirt said. He rolled his eyes again.  
  
"You would like a shirt like that, wouldn't you?" he mumbled under his breath, too quiet for the shop owner to hear. Not that he was really paying attention to him, anyway. Sands could rob the man blind before he even bothered to look up from his magazine.  
  
'What are you talking about? That shirt's hilarious! Just because not all of us like to dress up in silk and leather like you do, you pansy, doesn't mean that we don't have any taste.'  
  
"That's exactly what it means," Sands grumbled, but carried the shirt along with him anyway. At least it was black.  
  
'Oh, fuck you,' Jeffrey groused. 'See if I help you next time when you're on the run, Sheldon,' he seethed.  
  
"There better not be a next time. And don't call me that," Sands said, his voice raised to almost speaking level now.  
  
'Listen; don't freak out, you wuss. Just pay for the damn shirt and let's get the fuck out of this hell hole,' Jeffrey said, to anyone who might be listening sounding almost apologetic. To Sands' ears however, the only one who could actually hear him, it sounded as if he were being given a load of bullshit. But he did as Jeffrey suggested and made his way to the counter, but not before picking up a cheap pair of black plastic sunglasses to cover his face. 'Good thinking. Now you're learning, Sands,' Jeffrey rewarded him with the use of his last name again.  
  
Sands didn't bother to answer, but merely startled the shopkeeper out of his sports induced stupor to pay for the items he wanted. He would have to make do with the leather pants. Places like this only sold sweat pants, and it was definitely too fucking cold outside to go around in a pair of sweatpants.  
  
'Not to mention the fact that you'd never be caught dead in a pair, would you?' Jeffrey couldn't help but comment.  
  
Sands didn't rise to the bait, much to Jeffrey's annoyance. He paid for the items, made sure to get a bag to carry his old shirt in, and asked, "Do you have a bathroom I could use?" Sands asked once more in the Midwestern drawl. "The bathrooms on the tour bus leave something to be desired, you know what I mean?" He winked at the man, who laughed and directed him to a public restroom to the back of the store. "Thanks, friend. You're a life saver," he said with a wide smile. The man simply nodded and turned back to his magazine.  
  
'Can we shoot this guy?' Jeffrey asked as he walked through the store to the bathroom. 'Not that we necessarily should, but it'd be a hell of a lot of fun!'  
  
"No, I'm not fucking shooting him. Besides, I'm almost out of bullets," Sands whispered.  
  
'Poor excuse,' Jeffrey muttered. Sands rolled his eyes and entered the small bathroom and locked the door. He quickly took off his leather jacket and untucked and unbuttoned his black silk shirt and took the t-shirt he had purchased out of the bag. Realizing he had nothing to cut the tags off with, he cursed and ripped the tag itself off while leaving the plastic attachment on the shirt. It was the best he could do. He pulled on the t- shirt, gently balling up the silk and securing it in the bag. He then took a look at himself in the mirror, the black plastic sunglasses in hand. 'Not bad, but you really need to get over this fascination with a black on black wardrobe. It gets annoying after awhile,' Jeffrey groused.  
  
"Oh shut up. I like the black. And I wore red yesterday, remember?" Sands pointed out.  
  
'You only wore red because I forced you to. And you still wore black pants.'  
  
"Fine, whatever. I don't want to fucking argue about this," Sands said wearily.  
  
'You always fucking say that. What if I want to fucking argue sometimes? I like to fucking argue you big pussy. You don't like to hear people argue do you? It makes you uncomfortable. It reminds you of the times our fucking parents argued, doesn't it? Boo-hoo, poor Sheldon doesn't like to hear people argue because it brings back horrible memories from his childhood. God you are pathetic. If I could find a way to separate myself from your sorry ass, I'd be gone so fast you'd get whiplash from the sensation,' Jeffrey grumbled.  
  
"Well boo-hoo, you're stuck with me you bastard. So you might as well learn to live with it. Before I drug you into oblivion and never have to put up with you again, that is," Sands said smugly.  
  
'You wouldn't dare,' Jeffrey said, his voice turning cold.  
  
"Try me, you asshole," Sands shot back. "And don't call me Sheldon," he said, glaring at his image in the mirror, imagining it as Jeffrey. The image merely glared back.  
  
'Sheldon, Sheldon, pathetic little Sheldon that still can't stand to remember his parents' fighting when he was younger. The parents that he killed,' Jeffrey said mockingly.  
  
Sands couldn't take it anymore. He pulled back his hand and punched his mirror image right in the face, the glass shattering around his fist. That would shut Jeffrey up for awhile. He grimaced and pulled his now cut and bloodied hand out of the mirror fragments, not bothering to look at it. Instead, he stared back at the mirror where images of himself, of Jeffrey, reflected them back to him from every shattered fragment. It was sobering, to say the least.  
  
"Hey! What the fuck is going on in there! I heard something break! You better not be breaking something in there!" the portly man's high baritone called out from the store. Sands put on his glasses, Jeffrey smirked at the mirror, and together the two of him walked out of the store, not bothering to pay any attention to the fat sports fan any longer.  
  
***  
  
"Name, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, wait, Sheldon? Oh that poor bastard. No wonder he had his initials put on his credit card," Roland read along with the information he had dug up in the police records about his quarry. "D.O.B 13 February, 1966. Good Lord, the kid's only 27 years old?" Roland stared at the screen incredulously, his own 38 years hanging a bit heavily on him before reading on. "Parents, Anthony and Sara Sands, both deceased. And this just kept getting better and better," he commented with a shake of his head. "It looks like I'll be bringing down a billionaire. My first," Roland said with a half grin. Sands' father had been one of the richest men in the country if not the world upon the advent of his death. And with no siblings to share an inheritance with, Sands had gotten it all at the young age of only 17 years old. "Lucky son of a bitch," Roland grumbled.  
  
But then this was interesting. While there was no evidence proving foul play, it was suspected by more than one member of the law enforcement agencies set on the case that the young heir might have had a hand in his parent's death. Roland quickly scanned over the article that someone had thoughtfully included in the file. The headline was bold and black, attempting to shock whoever glanced at it, "BILLIONAIRE AND WIFE KILLED IN BLAZE. 17 OLD SON ONLY SURVIOR, INHERITS ALL." There was even a picture of young Sands on the cover, the same cold eyes he had seen in the restaurant staring unflinchingly at whoever had taken the picture. Roland also noticed that from his expression he didn't seem to be the least bit upset at his parent's untimely death.  
  
"Probably torched them himself, that bastard," Roland muttered under his breath. He had dealt with Sands' type before. Psychotics weren't typically born, they were created. And more often than not, that creation came about sometime during childhood. Anthony Sands had been a ruthless businessman, Sara Sands merely a trophy. Neither seemed very doting parents. Roland knew he was pretty much going on pure speculation here, but he had good instincts, and had learned to listen to them. They had saved his ass more times than he cared to count.  
  
He surreptitiously looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being observed. While what he was doing by searching the DCPD database wasn't illegal per se, it wasn't exactly legal either. If he had bothered to ask before hacking into their system to get the information he wanted, they probably would have said yes. Probably. But he hadn't wanted to wait to go through the bureaucracy that a request like that would ultimately bring, so he had taken the slightly less legal route. A part of him cautioned him at this action, worrying that he was sacrificing his career in a chase that was beginning to turn obsessive. All Roland could think about was catching Sands. From the moment he had laid eyes on him the restaurant, he knew that catching him would either make or break his career. Putting the man to justice responsible for Yvette's death had now become secondary in his mind, and he knew he would be damned because of it.  
  
"Excuse me, sir. Your telephone is ringing." A young voice startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the file to find a young dark haired woman speaking to him.  
  
"What?" was the only kind of reply his brain seemed to be able to make at the moment.  
  
"Your phone, it's ringing. You might want to answer it," the woman said with a roll of her eyes before walking away.  
  
It was then that the sound of ringing finally made its way to his ears. Fuck, his phone was indeed ringing, and he hadn't even noticed. "Sloppy, Roland, very sloppy," he berated himself before sticking a hand in his jacket pocket to pull out his cell. "Rivers," was his only salutation.  
  
"Agent Rivers? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you for the last 10 minutes! My life is in danger!" Mrs. Marta Sprout yelled in his ear. She really seemed to have a bad habit of doing that which he intended to talk to her about.  
  
"Don't be so melodramatic, Mrs. Sprout. What do you mean your life is in danger?" he rolled his eyes at the tone in her voice.  
  
"Mr. Sands! He knows I turned him in! He saw me calling you in the restaurant!" she shouted.  
  
Roland froze. This could not be good. "What do you mean he saw you? He was back in the kitchen with you?" Roland asked incredulously, but the edges of fear began to itch at his spine.  
  
"I called you from the dining room. I wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't leave before you got there," she sounded almost guilty, but still undeniably frightened.  
  
Roland clenched his eyes shut tight and cursed softly. This dumb cow had most likely signed her own death warrant. "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at a payphone near the restaurant. I'm afraid to go home, Agent Rivers. I saw what he did to that woman. He'll do the same to me, I know it!" She was close to weeping at this point.  
  
"Stay there, I'll get to you as soon as I can. Do you hear me?" Roland said firmly. There was no answer. "Marta? Are you still there?"  
  
"Hello, Agent Rivers," a new voice drawled into the phone. "Gee, I'm awfully sorry, but dear Mrs. Sprout had an errand to run. I'm afraid you won't be seeing her again," the man on the other end said, a smirk apparent in his voice.  
  
"Sands. You bastard, what have you done to her?!" He was the one shouting into the phone this time.  
  
"There's no need to get upset, Agent Rivers, we couldn't let her get away now could we?"  
  
We? So the bastard had an accomplice. But that didn't make any sense. From what he had read, Sands had always been a loner. And serial killers always worked alone. They wouldn't want an outsider sharing in on their fun. So who was he talking about? "What do you mean, we? I didn't see anyone else in the restaurant with you," Roland asked. The line stayed quiet for a moment, and Roland's brow furrowed. Had Sands not heard him? Was he still there? "Are you still there, asshole? It wasn't a hard question," Roland said, a sneer crossing his face.  
  
"Nevermind," Sands said, actually sounding flustered. Roland's eyes widened at this reaction. Something he had said had confused him, but what? It had been when he had asked about an accomplice. Sands didn't seem to have an accomplice, but he had said we. Roland decided to file this away to think about later.  
  
"You killed her, didn't you? Just like you killed Yvette," Roland snarled.  
  
"Yvette? You knew Yvette? Is that was this is all about? You're chasing me because I killed some blonde bimbo?" Sands sounded shocked.  
  
Roland saw red. "You bastard. She was my friend, and you don't even care that you killed her, do you?"  
  
"Ahh, I see. She was more than your friend, wasn't she? I can tell by the tone of your voice. She's too young to be your wife, so she must have been your lover. I assume a man your age is married, Agent Rivers. Does your wife know you're fucking someone on the side?"  
  
"Fuck you," Roland ground out. Sands was clearly trying to bait him, and unfortunately it was working all too well. He needed to take a deep breath and clear his head.  
  
"Aww, what's wrong, Agent Rivers? Did I strike a nerve?" the man asked gleefully.  
  
"Mark my words, you sadistic bastard. I will find you. And when I do, you will pay," Roland seethed, his knuckles white where he was gripping his cell phone.  
  
"I don't think so. Oh, would you like to say goodbye to Marta? How rude of me to intrude on her conversation for so long. Hold on, let me get her," Sands said, and Roland could hear him moving around in the background. "Now say hello to Agent Rivers, Marta," Sands could be heard saying.  
  
"Roland?" came Marta's trembling voice through the line.  
  
"Marta! Talk to me! Are you alright? Has he hurt you?" Roland yelled frantically through the phone.  
  
"Roland! Don't let him hurt me, please!" she pleaded with him, her voice dissolving into sobs.  
  
"Yes, please don't let me hurt her, Roland," Sands' voice came back through the line. "Roland? Roland Rivers? What the hell kind of name is that?" he asked mockingly.  
  
"You're not one to talk, Sheldon," Roland seethed. "Let Marta go. She's not a part of this. Just let her go, and we can meet to talk."  
  
"Say goodbye to Marta, Agent Rivers," Sands said, his voice cold and unfeeling across the line. "Oops." A gun shot blasted through the phone and Roland winced at the noise. "Too late," he said in a flat tone of voice. "Be seeing you, Agent Rivers." With that, Sands hung up the phone.  
  
The dial tone blazed like a klaxon in Roland's ears, but he made no motion to hang up the phone. He made no motions at all. Then, as if someone had remembered to turn on the 'ON' switch, he suddenly came to life, chucking his phone across the room and screaming at the top of his lungs in his rage.  
  
***  
  
Sands raised one hand to rub at his ear while putting the gun back in its place with the other. "Note to self, shooting someone in an enclosed space is not a good idea," he muttered.  
  
'I could have told you that, idiot,' Jeffrey said.  
  
"Oh really? How? Have you shot someone in close proximity before? No, I don't think so. So kindly shut the fuck up," Sands grumbled before carefully stepping over Marta's body, careful not to get blood on his black leather boots.  
  
Jeffrey grumbled that he had killed someone in close proximity before, but it was under his breath and Sands paid him no mind. He had other things to worry about, like getting the hell out of an obvious murder scene before the cops showed up. But he wasn't worried. He pulled on the black stocking cap he had taken off of Marta before killing her, wouldn't want to get blood on it, and had found a hair tie in her purse with which he pulled his shoulder-length hair back securely. Combined with the glasses, he blended in quite effectively with the crowds, even though being dressed completely in black from head to toe in all likelihood should have brought him more attention. People seemed to unconsciously avoid him, which made him smile.  
  
'You need to get a new gun,' Jeffrey commented suddenly, startling Sands for a moment. 'Find somewhere safe to ditch this one and find a new gun. The .22's nice and easy to conceal, but come on, it lacks a certain presence, you know what I mean? And a silencer wouldn't be a bad idea either,' Jeffrey said, sounding thoughtful. 'And take care of your goddamned hand, for Christ' sake. You're dripping blood all over the place.'  
  
Sands looked down at his mangled right hand for the first time since leaving the tourist shop. It was indeed a mess, shiny bits of reflective glass glinting at him viciously in the sunlight among a sea of bloody red. "Fuck," he muttered at the sight.  
  
'See? I fucking told you. You'd lose your fucking head if I wasn't around to tell you to pull it out of your ass, Sheldon,' Jeffrey said scathingly.  
  
"Don't call me Sheldon, you bastard," Sands said, not really paying attention to what he was saying, simply speaking in response. His attention was still drawn on his hand. He hadn't even noticed it was hurt. But God almighty, it hurt like a motherfucker now. Perhaps he should go to a hospital?  
  
'Too risky. Hospitals keep records. And I'm sure there are quite a few people out there looking for us. The cops don't like it when you go around killing people, I suppose,' Jeffrey said with a laugh.  
  
"Yeah, I suppose," Sands muttered. He had to get some bandages at least, and clean out all of pieces of broken mirror before they got infected.  
  
'Go into a fucking drugstore if you're going to be a wuss about it. There's one a few blocks over. But then, we need to get a new gun. You understand me, fuckmook?'  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I understand," Sands muttered before making his way down the street, smirking at the shocked sounds and screams behind him as people began to discover his work.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Well, this chapter was fun. At least, I had fun anyway. I hope you did too. Sands and Jeffrey are fun to write, and Roland is turning out to be a good nemesis. Well, at least I think he is anyway. SJ certainly is slipping, isn't he? Two dead bodies in one chapter. Tsk Tsk. :-) Anyway, please send me your reviews!! They are greatly appreciated!!! 


	8. Following the Trail of Corpses

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: SJ is mine, didn't you know? Wait, what do you mean he isn't mine? Robert Rodriguez? Who's he and why is he trying to take SJ away from me? He's mine, I tell you! Mine! *cackles maniacally*  
  
Characters: Sands/Jeffrey, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright and yet another new character, Julian Manchester  
  
Author's Note: A million and a half thanks go out to Miss B for her lovely beta work, Sara and Halia for their help on Julian, who will be mainly featured in the next chapter, and all of my reviewers. You guys are the best!!  
  
Author's Note II: There wasn't a whole lot of SJ in this one, sorry. Roland, Susannah, and Emily tend to eat up the pages when they're together.  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Eight: Following the Trail of Corpses  
  
"You think Roland's having any luck in finding out what happened to Yvette? We haven't heard from him all day, that's not like him," Susannah muttered to Emily as they walked away from the small café where they had had lunch.  
  
"I don't want to hear about him. If Yvette's laid herself that man, and doesn't want *Agent Rivers* to know, I say it's about fucking time!" Emily exclaimed loudly, causing Susannah to send her a glare in reprimand. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know they're sleeping together as well as I do. Just 'cause you're too embarrassed to mention it because he's married and she's half his age-"  
  
"I'm calling him," Susannah said, pulling out her cell phone, not bothering to acknowledge Emily's comments. "He should have called us by now. Something isn't right about this," she muttered, dialing Roland's cell.  
  
Emily rolled her eyes, but didn't speak. She had known Susannah for a long time, and she knew better than to question her instincts. She just hoped that Sus was wrong, and that Yvette really was living it up with that sex on a stick of a man. 'Damn, I wish I had been thinking straight enough to give him my number to call if he and Yvette didn't work out. What was his name again? Ocean? Beach? Something like that,' after taking a moment to actually remember the all too brief conversation they had shared rather than his looks, the name came to her. 'Sands! That's it!'  
  
"There's no answer," Susannah interrupted her thoughts. "I don't like this. When have you ever known Roland to be without his phone?"  
  
Emily frowned and thought about it. "Never," she said at last. "It's as if that stupid thing is an extension of his body. He likes to be on top of things, in more than way I imagine," she muttered.  
  
Susannah chose to ignore Emily's comment. "I think we should start looking into things for ourselves. Roland might be in danger, and we have no idea what's happened to Yvette."  
  
Emily merely nodded after taking a moment to think about it. She trusted her friend's instincts, and though she would never admit it, was a little concerned for Roland's well-being herself. 'The man may be a prick, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die for it,' she thought before addressing the slight brunette beside of her, "Let's go."  
  
***  
  
Roland cursed upon discovering the mangled remnants of his cellphone against the wall. He had caused quite a scene by throwing it, but he found he did not care in the slightest. Marta Sprout was dead, and it was all his fault. If he had move a little faster, tried a little harder, then perhaps he would have caught Sands before now and Marta would still be alive. But there was no time for such thoughts now. He had to stop feeling guilty over the things he could not change, and get working at the things he could. Sands was still out there, and would no doubt kill again soon if he was not stopped.  
  
"Excuse me sir, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave," a stern voice called out to him as he was looking through the shattered remains of his cellphone. He looked up and was greeted with the sight of a small blue- haired woman with half-lens glasses glaring at him. She was undoubtedly the librarian.  
  
Roland cursed under his breath for losing his temper like he had and bringing attention to himself. He had come to the DC public library for a place to do his research on Sands without being noticed by anyone. His little tantrum has ruined all chances of that. "Of course, I'll leave at once. I apologize," he said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. The librarian nodded curtly and regained her place behind the reference desk, before turning to keep a shrewd eye on him as he pulled on his coat to leave. It didn't matter, though. He had learned all the information he could about Sands, and now there was nothing left than to begin his hunt.  
  
'A man like that doesn't know how to be subtle. He'll make mistakes, and you'll get him,' he reassured himself. The man was too blatant, too rash. He seemed to like causing scenes, if the scene at the restaurant earlier had been any indication. He pulled on his coat and strode out from under the watchful eye of the librarian and out onto the busy sidewalk. He quickly made sure his coat was completely buttoned against the cold October wind that attempted to tickle his spine before pulling on a pair of dark sunglasses and making his way to the only place he had any leads on Sands; the Yellow Chicken.  
  
***  
  
'You need to get the hell out of DC for awhile, fuckmook,' Jeffrey casually informed him as he walked into the drug store.  
  
"I thought you wanted me to get a gun first?" he muttered under his breath. Annoyed at Jeffrey's...his, constant mood swings. "I wish you would make up our fucking mind so we could get on with our day," he grumbled again. Having another person share your mind was fucking confusing.  
  
'You're telling me. Hey, did you ever think that perhaps I'm the one in charge and you're a voice inside of my head? Think about that one for awhile.'  
  
"Shut up. And don't even start that with me. You're most definitely a voice inside my head. A voice that I'm becoming more and more willing to drug into nothingness. So shut the fuck up for awhile." Sands closed his mouth with a snap as he noticed more than one customer staring at him as he argued with himself. He merely stared them all down with cold, flat eyes until every last one of them looked away.  
  
"Can I help you, sir?" the man at the counter asked with bored repetition. Sands smirked and walked purposefully over to him.  
  
"I don't suppose you could help me with this?" he asked, laying his bleeding hand on the countertop, leaving small puddles of blood from underneath his fingertips on the pristine counter. The man grimaced in shock.  
  
"Good God, what happened to your hand? Get it away from me! The counter will have to be disinfected at once!" the man shouted, bringing even more unwanted attention Sands' way.  
  
'Nice work, asshole. You've scared the poor man out of his wits. Whoever thought a germaphobe would be working in a drug store? Stupid idiot. I take it back, he deserved to be fucked with. Wave your hand around a bit more. Let's see if we can make him loose it.'  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at his worse half's suggestions. "Listen, I'll leave you alone if you just tell me where the bandages and antiseptic are."  
  
"Here, just take them and get out of here!" the flustered man said, grabbing handfuls of bandages and the like and throwing them in Sands' direction.  
  
"Thanks," Jeffrey said, having taken over in a moment of distraction on Sands' part. "We really appreciate your help," he said, clasping his bloodied hand on the clerk's shoulder. The man had just enough time to turn deathly pale before crumpling to the ground in a faint. Jeffrey laughed uproariously, causing the few remaining people in the store after that display to gasp in collective shock. "Oh come on, don't look at us like that. That was fun!" With that, he grabbed a plastic bag off the bloodied counter, smirked at the unconscious clerk once more, and walked out the automatic doors of the drug store with his bounty, whistling softly. He would take care of Sands' hand, but then he had things to do, and people to kill. Or maybe it was the other way around...  
  
***  
  
"This place is a war zone! What in God's name has been going on here?" Emily shouted out loud upon coming up to the front of the Yellow Chicken. They had made their way to the only place they knew to come to look for information on Sands. They both hoped that at least someone had seen and remembered something from last night. And now, it looked as if their choice to come here had been a god one; the entrance was criss-crossed with police tape, and more than one man in uniform was nosing around the building.  
  
Susannah didn't comment, but she was clearly as confused and frustrated with the scene before her as Emily was. 'Why hadn't Roland called to tell them about this? Something had obviously happened here, and if the hairs standing up on the back of her neck were any indication, it was something that tied in very closely to the man they were trying to find. She frowned, a tiny crease line marring her smooth features, and made her way over to one of the uniformed men standing guard near the door. "Excuse me, officer? I don't suppose you could tell us what happened here today?" she asked calmly, trying to put forth her most professional tone of voice.  
  
The young officer looked her up and down as if to gauge her intentions by her appearance alone. She had apparently passed because he cleared his throat to speak, "There's been an incident, Ma'am," he said without going into further details.  
  
Susannah fought down the urge to roll her eyes and snap at the man. Emily, however, had no such reservations. "The yellow police tape was a big giveaway, moron. Want to tell us something we don't already know?"  
  
The officer's eyes narrowed into slits and he spit out coldly, "May I see some kind of identification, ladies?"  
  
'Damn it,' Susannah thought irritably. This was what she had been trying to avoid. 'Now he'll think we're just two dumb federal agents who're trying to take over the case. I really need to teach Emily the meaning of the word 'inconspicuous.' Not that she'd ever take Susannah's warnings to heart. She was brash and knew it. She liked the feel of power flashing her badge in front of lowly police officers gave her. "Agents Cartwright and Brisbane, CIA," she said before Emily could get a word in. She flipped open her badge with a barely restrained sigh.  
  
The officer looked over both her and Emily's badges with a shrewd eye before grunting out a brief, "Officer Paulson." He then seemed to settle in his role of information-giver to the two female federal agents with a sigh. "A woman was set on fire about an hour ago in the restaurant by another patron, one S.J. Sands. Sands fled on foot from the scene and reportedly killed another man in the vicinity," he jerked a hand over his shoulder to point vaguely in the direction the assumed murder had taken place. "We've got half of the DCPD out looking for him right now. I don't suppose you want to tell me what the CIA's interest is in this case?" he asked, clearly believing he wasn't going to get a clear answer from either of them by the resigned tone in his voice.  
  
Susannah decided to give the young rookie a break. She cut off Emily's no doubt scathing comment; she had always disliked the DCPD, with a hand. "We're after Mr. Sands in connection with the murder of an associate of ours. That's all. We're not here to butt in on the DCPD's case in any way. We just want to make sure the man who did these horrible deeds is brought to justice. It doesn't matter by whom, just that this son of a bitch is behind bars, if you'll pardon my language."  
  
Officer Paulson actually cracked a small smile at this. "No offense taken, Agent Cartwright," he hesitated a moment, casting a glance in Emily's direction, which she answered with a scowl, before speaking again. "I don't really care who catches him either, as long as someone does. I've never before truly wished to see another person get the death penalty, I don't mind admitting, but if you had seen what he did to that old woman..."  
  
"So the woman died?" Susannah asked slowly.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Officer Paulson said sadly. "She survived the attack but didn't make it to the hospital. She was reportedly DOA," the officer said, not needing to say anything further.  
  
"Then that's at least two murders we can tie to him. And both in cold blood. Perhaps you'll get your chance to see him get the death penalty after all, Officer." Emily volunteered to the conversation.  
  
"At least? You think he's going to kill again?" Officer Paulson asked with a frown.  
  
"I'd bet my badge on it," Emily answered him with conviction.  
  
"That's why we need to track him down and bring him into custody as soon as possible. Thank you for your help, Officer Paulson. If there's anything else you think of that might be useful to us, please give me a call," she handed him one of her business cards.  
  
"I will, Agent Cartwright. Only if you promise to do the same for the DCPD," he said, his eyes almost narrowing again despite the candor with which he had earlier been speaking. He was loyal to his uniform; they had to give him that.  
  
Susannah nodded. "Of course, it's the least I can do for your help." She didn't know if she'd be able to keep her word; couldn't predict what would happen should she become even more personally involved in the case and vowed to take Sands down herself of die trying. But she would try.  
  
Officer Paulson didn't seem to entirely buy her half-promise, but didn't say a word as he led them around the corner of the restaurant to where the second, or third if she counted Yvette, and she did, murder had taken place.  
  
The body had been removed from the scene, leaving a grisly chalked image on the pavement spattered with blood that left almost as little to the imagination as the body itself would have. Susannah stepped aside and let Emily move forward. This was where Emily's brash nature truly paid off. She was able to look at crime scenes, political manipulations, and the like and discover everything there was to know about it with seemingly only one glance. It was a talent Susannah often found herself envying. Emily had a rare gift for seeing what others did not, and the brash nature to make wild conclusions where others would falter, conclusions that more often than turned out to be right.  
  
"Who was the victim?" Emily asked aloud, not looking up from her position crouched beside the grimy chalk outline.  
  
"A Mr. Ryan Merced," Officer Paulson said, reading from a small notebook he produced from a pocket in his overcoat after only a moment's hesitation. "He was the bartender here. He was shot twice at point-blank range with what looked like a .22."  
  
"Yvette's gun," Emily muttered. "The bastard's out killing people with Yvette's gun." She no longer saw Sands as a possible sexual interest, but as someone to be brought down and be made to pay for their crimes. In the blink of an eye, Emily had transformed from the joking and rarely serious woman everyone assumed her to be to a no-nonsense CIA agent who took her job and duty very seriously. "Were there any witnesses?"  
  
"A lot of people heard it, but no one's claiming to have seen anything. I think the scene in the restaurant has got them all spooked. And with good reason," Officer Paulson muttered.  
  
Emily merely nodded. "It's obvious that he doesn't care for the people he's killed. He's killed two people in broad daylight among witnesses. He had no regard for their lives; he merely killed them both without a second thought. But he doesn't want to be caught, at least not yet. He ran from the scene which suggests that while he's impulsively sociopathic or psychotic, he's not necessarily insane. Something told him to run, and he did. But where?" Emily had stopped speaking to either of them quite awhile ago, and now Susannah and Officer Paulson could only follow her leads as she worked. She turned to look at Officer Paulson again, "Did he leave in a car or on foot?"  
  
Officer Paulson hesitated at this, "Most accounts say he left on foot, but as I said there were no real witnesses to the scene."  
  
"On foot, yes," Emily said absently, clearly lost in whatever she was seeing again. "Where would he go?" the question was clearly not directed at either Susannah nor Officer Paulson, so they offered no answer, only following Emily as she stood up and walked away from the scene.  
  
The three of them drew more than a few stares from the rubbernecks that had gathered at the police tape, but none of them paid any notice. They were simply following Emily's lead. They nearly bumped into each other when Emily suddenly stopped in front of one of the glitzy looking tourist traps that fed on DC's visitors like parasites. "I think he went in here. It seems the most likely place if he were on foot. It's close to the restaurant, and they sell disguises."  
  
"Disguises?" Officer Paulson asked, not quite following Emily's line of reasoning.  
  
"He could become the eternal tourist in no time, and blend in with any of the hundred people you see walking around us," Emily said with a wide gesture to the flow of people they had ignored on their walk over here. It certainly was conceivable for someone to be able to disappear into such a throng with ease.  
  
"And that's exactly what he did," a new but familiar voice called out from the front of the shop.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Emily asked through slightly clenched teeth. She still couldn't stand the sight of the man. Wincing at his near colorless hair was blinding in the October sunshine.  
  
"The same thing as you, I imagine. Tracking after that bastard. He killed Marta Sprout," Roland said solemnly.  
  
"Who's Marta Sprout?" Susannah asked as tactfully as she could amidst the surprise to see Roland standing before her.  
  
"The owner of the Yellow Chicken," Officer Paulson supplied. "I'm Officer Robert Paulson of the DC Police Department. And who might you be, sir? And how did you come to know this information?" he shot at Roland.  
  
"Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. And I came to know that information, because the bastard spoke to me on the phone right before he did it."  
  
"Are you sure you feds don't have something going on here that's more than meets the eye? There sure are a lot of you after this one guy. Especially when his crimes were committed in our jurisdiction, not yours."  
  
Susannah and Emily walked over and stood at either side of Roland, both of them laying a hand on one of his arms, even Emily, in order to keep him from slugging the self-righteous cop in the face. He cursed under his breath that he had allowed himself to lose control of his temper enough times to make him predictable. He shook off their hands angrily, but didn't make a move against Officer Paulson. He may have had a short fuse, but he had admirable restraint when it came to letting it burn. "I was doing research on one Sheldon Jeffrey Sands when Mrs. Sprout called me. She was worried that her life was in danger because Sands had seen her make the call to me in the restaurant. She was right. He intercepted her and killed her as I was talking to her on the phone. I traced the call to this neighborhood. We found Mrs. Sprout's body in a phone booth not two blocks from here, shot point-blank range in the head with a .22 caliber pistol. Her body's still there if you want to examine it."  
  
Officer Paulson took the opportunity to look up the street and he did indeed see a small army of police and medical vehicles surrounding what looked like an ordinary telephone booth. "Then why are you here?" he asked finally.  
  
"I'm tracing the bastard's movements backwards. Come with me," he said, gesturing for the three of them to follow him into the tourist shop. When the four of them had entered, he nodded to the portly man behind the counter who merely frowned at them before picking up a sports magazine from the counter.  
  
"What's this all about, Agent Rivers?" Officer Paulson asked what they had all been thinking; only Susannah and Emily were too loyal to a fellow CIA agent, even if they disliked the fellow agent, to question him.  
  
"Come into the public restroom. The clerk told me that Sands came in here not long after the incident at the restaurant and shooting the bartender. He purchased a dark t-shirt and sunglasses and came in here to change."  
  
"So? What does that have to do with anything? So he came in here to change, big deal. Get to the point, Agent Rivers," Officer Paulson said, growing more impatient and tactless than he should have given the current situation.  
  
Roland dutifully ignored him, keeping a tight rein on his temper. "Come inside. It'll be a tight fit, but we'll manage." He led the way, not bothering to flip the light switch, so soon all four of them were standing in the small one-toilet bathroom in the dark.  
  
"I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but just get on with it, Rivers," Emily couldn't stop herself from saying, starting to get a bit claustrophobic.  
  
Roland rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Immediately, all three of them gasped as their eyes were drawn to the bloodied fist-shaped break in the mirror in front of them.  
  
"Is that what I think it is?" Emily broke the silence first.  
  
"It would appear so," Roland answered her.  
  
"Why would anyone do a thing like that?" Officer Paulson added his own comment.  
  
"To get rid of whoever was in the mirror," Susannah supplied quietly. Roland and Emily nodded in agreement.  
  
"Exactly. Sands came in here to change, and not a minute after the door was closed, the clerk said he heard arguing and the sound of glass breaking."  
  
"Arguing? With who? Does he have an accomplice in this?" Officer Paulson asked.  
  
Roland didn't answer that one. It was clear he was beginning to form an answer, by the way he was biting his lower lip in thought, but if he had come to any conclusions, he hadn't spoken them aloud.  
  
Officer Paulson didn't like being ignored, but he went on without comment, "So where do you think the bastard is now? He set the woman on fire in the restaurant, killed the bartender, had a fight with the mirror in here, and killed the restaurant owner. Why all of the focus around the restaurant? Should we warn the other waiters and waitresses who work there that their lives are in danger?"  
  
"He's focusing on the restaurant because that seems to be where all of this began. That's where he met our associate, Officer Paulson. He picked her up last night, more than likely killed her," Susannah admitted to herself softly, "and he's now killing all the witnesses from last night, one by one. It's actually rather methodical in a psychotic kind of way. He doesn't want anyone to know where he went last night after picking up our associate."  
  
"Does this associate have a name?" Officer Paulson asked.  
  
"Yvette St. Martin," Roland volunteered, despite the look Susannah and Emily had sent him to keep quiet about the name. He had no reason for keeping that secret, he had plenty more that were much more interesting at the moment.  
  
"There has to be someone last night who saw him leave. A car like that doesn't exactly blend in," Emily commented, thinking back on the information that they had on Sands. His car seemed the most likely way of tracking him now.  
  
"His car, a late-model black Jaguar, Officer Paulson, is being tracked as we speak. I've got people questioning the waiters and waitresses of the restaurant who worked last night if they saw anything that we're not already aware of. It's a slow process, but it's all we can do, right now." Roland said with some finality.  
  
Susannah wondered when he had time to plan all of this. He certainly seemed to be a step ahead of her and Emily. "Where to next, Agent Rivers?" she asked finally.  
  
Roland cast a sideways glance at Officer Paulson before speaking. "You came from the restaurant, I take it, Officer Paulson?" he waited for the man's nod. "Then perhaps it would be a good idea for you to head back over there. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble with your superiors for abandoning your post."  
  
Officer Paulson narrowed his eyes at this, but sighed. The fed was right. He had already been away too long. With a curt nod, and strict demand for them to share all of their findings with the DCPD, he turned and left.  
  
"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Roland asked, leaving the cramped bathroom without a further word. Emily and Susannah took one last look at the broken mirror before following him, Susannah turning off the light switch as they passed.  
  
"You know something you're not telling us," Emily accused once Officer Paulson was out of sight. "I still don't like you, and keeping secrets from us, especially on this case, is not going to change my opinion any."  
  
"It was about Officer Paulson's question, wasn't it? About the accomplice?" Susannah asked directly. Emily might have caught that if she hadn't been so blinded by her dislike of Roland.  
  
"Yes. But I don't have all the answers yet. As soon as I do, you two lovely ladies will be the first to know," Roland said cheerfully, which Susannah answered with a nod and Emily a glare.  
  
"You said Sands talked to you on the phone before killing Mrs. Sprout. What did he say?" Susannah asked.  
  
"He treated all of this like a game. He admitted to killing Yvette, but not where her body was. And he seemed far too intuitive for his own good. He's going to be hard to catch. He's clever, and he knows we're on to him now," Roland sighed.  
  
"What else did he say? Did he give away any reason as to why he might be doing this?" Susannah asked.  
  
"It's a game to him, isn't that what you said? We've already hypothesized that he's at least sociopathic if not psychotic as well. I know serial killers are usually one or the other, but this case feels different somehow. He obviously feels no remorse for what he's done, which definitely implies that he's suffering from some kind of antisocial personality disorder, but then there's the mirror and the arguing with himself, which implies something else entirely. I would very much like to speak with this man, Agent Rivers. Did he say anything else?" Emily asked in the most polite tone of voice she could muster at the moment.  
  
"He certainly didn't like the fact that I called him Sheldon," he muttered, feeling a little bit guilty over that. He had pressed Sands' buttons, and Marta was dead because of it. Not that he believed Sands wouldn't have killed her anyway, but the feeling of guilt was there to stay regardless.  
  
"Yes, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, you mentioned. Why is that familiar?" Emily asked out loud, her face clouding in thought.  
  
"He's a billionaire. Isn't that right, Agent Rivers? Didn't he inherit his family's fortune a few years back? Some kind of fire? I vaguely remember reading about it. I probably only remember the story because of the name," Susannah said with a thoughtful look.  
  
"That's right. I knew there was a reason I kept you two ladies around," Roland said with a smirk, continuing before Emily could comment. "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, the billionaire. Both of his parents died in a fire 10 years ago, while he survived. Their entire fortune went to him on his 18th birthday. He's twenty-seven now."  
  
"Which explains the fancy clothes and the car, but not the restaurant," Emily muttered. "Perhaps he was slumming. Man, why do all the gorgeous, filthy rich men turn out to be murdering, psychotic bastards? The world is an unjust place."  
  
Neither Roland nor Susannah had an answer to that one.  
  
***  
  
When Sands regained control of his body, he noticed two things. First, his right hand was securely bandaged, and second, he was on a train. "Damn it Jeffrey, where are you taking me?" he grumbled, casting a glance out the window to see fast moving countryside roll by.  
  
'Calm the fuck down. We're going to see an old friend of ours. Well, of yours actually, since I've never really met the bastard,' Jeffrey commented offhand.  
  
"Who? Where are we going?" Sands asked, not caring that there were other passengers in the car to hear him talking to himself this time.  
  
'We're on our merry way to Baltimore to see Mr. Julian Manchester. You do remember, Julian, don't you?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands could feel himself smirking.  
  
"You mean that self-righteous prick I blackmailed in grad school?" Sands asked with a frown. "Why the hell are we going to see him?"  
  
'We need a place to lay low for awhile, and I think a brand new city to kill in will be fun, don't you?'  
  
"No. But that still doesn't answer my question. Why Julian?"  
  
'Because you didn't give him all your blackmail evidence when he paid you off, did you?'  
  
It was Sands who smirked this time. "As a matter of fact, I didn't. I doubt he's going to be pleased to see me," he said with a small chuckle.  
  
Jeffrey laughed himself. 'Oh you're damn right about that.'  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Well that was fun. Roland, Susannah and Emily back together again, and nipping at SJ's heels. And SJ's off to meet yet another new OFC. Things are about to get...interesting. I can't wait, how about you? 


	9. Deepened Psychosis and New 'Friends'

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: SJ is mine, didn't you know? Wait, what do you mean he isn't mine? Robert Rodriguez? Who's he and why is he trying to take SJ away from me? He's mine, I tell you! Mine! *cackles maniacally*  
  
Characters: Sands/Jeffrey, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright and yet another new character, Julian Manchester  
  
Author's Note: Ok, know this; I've never been to Baltimore in my life. I'm making up the geography of the city as I go along. Special thanks to Halia for betaing, and also to her and Sara for their help on making Julian the arrogant bastard he is today. Thanks!! And to all of my lovely, lovely reviewers, you guys make my day, truly. :-)  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Nine: Deepened Psychosis and New 'Friends'  
  
Sands stepped off of the train and onto the platform as he surveyed the city around him. He had never actually been to Baltimore before, so this was an entirely new experience.  
  
'I still can't believe you wouldn't let me kill that guy,' Jeffrey grumbled. 'He deserved it.'  
  
"Just because he nearly dropped his suitcase on our foot is not reason enough to kill him, no matter what you might think. Dear God, is that all you ever think about? Killing people?' Sands questioned under his breath.  
  
'Pretty much. And don't forget, idiot. I'm still you, technically. It's all you ever think about too.'  
  
Sands didn't have an answer to this. He truly had forgotten that Jeffrey wasn't another person for a moment. The realization that he was still a part of his own mind was sobering. He had killed quite a lot of people in the last few days, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Jeffrey had been right about that, at least. He was a sociopath, and he knew it.  
  
'Of course I was right. I'm always right. Even when I'm wrong, I'm right,' he stated firmly.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at that, but it had been a good idea to get out of DC for awhile. He didn't like the shrewd look of intelligence he had seen in Agent Rivers' eyes, and from the way he had sounded on the phone, he wouldn't be giving up easily. "Where do we go from here?" he asked Jeffrey softly. "You're the one who seems to be running this show, not me."  
  
'And as long as you keep that in mind, we'll get along fine,' Jeffrey assured him. 'Get to a phone booth. Maybe Manchester's listed.'  
  
"What do you mean, maybe he's listed? You dragged me all the way here and you don't even know his address?"  
  
'You don't know it either, so shut the fuck up and get your ass over to that phone booth,' Jeffrey said coldly. He didn't like being second- guessed.  
  
"Fuck you," Sands grumbled, but did as he was told. He walked over to the phone booth and grabbed the book, flipping through the pages until he got to the M's. "He better be in here," he muttered as he scanned over the names.  
  
'Manchester, Julian. 3476 Thunderclap Lane. Thunderclap Lane? Only the rich could get away with naming a street something so ridiculous as that,' Jeffrey muttered.  
  
"What's your problem with rich people, anyway?" Sands asked, tearing the page out of the phone book. "We're rich. You insured that when you killed our parents," Sands said, his voice cold.  
  
'Let's get something straight once and for all. I didn't kill our parents. You did. You burned them alive in your bedroom as they screamed at you to let them go. I don't think I could ever be that heartless, Sands. Congratulations. And I don't like the rich because they think they can have whatever they want and not have to work for it. People like that make me sick. I don't think Julian and I are going to get along. I seem to remember he was always an arrogant little bastard. I can't wait to meet him,' Jeffrey said sarcastically.  
  
"It was your idea to come here in the first place, not mine. And you're lying about our parents. I may have hated them, but I didn't kill them. I would have remembered."  
  
'You'd think so, wouldn't you? And yet you don't. You're in denial, admit it. I was around then, sure, I always have been, but you are the one you who tied their hands to the headboard, doused them both in gasoline, and threw the lit match on them, Sands. Not me. You didn't even bother to gag them, for Christ's sake. You stood there and listened to their screams as if you couldn't hear them at all. I may be a coldhearted bastard, but I am created from you, Sands. Don't forget that.'  
  
Sands opened his mouth to comment, but the words wouldn't come. If what Jeffrey was saying was true, he couldn't remember it but if it was, dear God.  
  
'Are you getting it yet, psycho-boy? Is any of this making its way into your half of our brain yet? As much as I might like to fuck with you into believing that I might be the real one and you're the voice in my head, that's not the case. I am a part of you. Every reaction, every word, every thought is something you will have thought, or have thought in the past. You always had the ability to kill, Sands, I simply brought that ability to the surface.'  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Sands said, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples in a vain attempt to block out Jeffrey's voice. "I don't want to hear this," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Just shut the fuck up."  
  
'No can do, you sorry son of a bitch. You need to accept a few things straight in our head or you're gonna crack open like a skull blindsided by a sledgehammer,' Sands almost winced at the image that phrase brought, but Jeffrey either didn't notice, or didn't care and went on, 'You need to accept me, first and foremost. I may not like you, you ungrateful bastard, but I'm stuck with you for better or worse, 'til death or strong medication do us part.' Jeffrey said, a bit of cynicism touching his voice. 'Second, you are both a psychopath and a sociopath at the same time due to me. I don't know if such a thing is even supposed to be possible, but it's happened. Accept it, go on a killing spree. Oh, you've already got that one well in hand, nevermind,' Jeffrey said, and Sands could feel himself smirking. 'Because you need to accept it, or you will crack. And it won't be pretty when it happens, believe me. I have no desire to see you lose it and get our ass locked away in some institution for the rest of our lives, savvy? Just keep that in mind, and we'll be fine.'  
  
Savvy? What the hell did that mean? Sands thought to himself. He felt his eyes rolling. 'It means, 'do you com-pre-fucking-hend what I'm trying to say to you, you moronic bastard?'  
  
Sands grit his teeth. "Yes," he said after regaining some of the tight control that had been slipping over his temper. "But let's make one thing absolutely clear right now. I do not need you. In fact, I'm probably better off without you, so *you* keep that in fucking mind when you start criticizing. Do you fucking savvy?"  
  
'Savvy,' Jeffrey said coldly before reverting back to his usual cursing, cheery, psychotic self. 'Well this is fun. We seem to be at an impasse. All we need now is a gun in each of our hands pointed at our head and we'd have a genuine Mexican stand-off. What do you say we try it? It could be amusing to stir up the locals.'  
  
Sands actually stood there a moment and pictured it; a gun in each hand, both barrels pointed at his temples, deep in an argument with himself in front of a group of terrified people...the image did have its appeal, he had to admit, if merely for sheer shock value.  
  
'Does that mean we're going to do it?' Jeffrey asked, sounding almost gleefully anticipatory.  
  
"No," Sands said at last. He could feel Jeffrey almost pouting. "As interesting as it would be, I don't like causing scenes. I know you do, but I don't. And besides, we just got here. We've plenty of time to cause scenes later, I assure you." Sands didn't know why he was reassuring Jeffrey, perhaps because he was in fact, reassuring himself, but it wasn't just that. Jeffrey had been right. They had to get along, at least some of the time anyway, or he would be torn apart. And that was definitely an undesirable outcome.  
  
'You're telling me,' Jeffrey muttered.  
  
"I really wish you'd stop doing that, it's rather annoying," Sands grumbled under his breath.  
  
'What? Answering the thoughts you haven't said out loud? I can hear them, why wouldn't I answer them?'  
  
"Because it's unsettling," Sands admitted at last.  
  
'Unsettling? Because it's unsettling?' Jeffrey repeated incredulously. 'Dear God, but you really can sound like the rich snob sometimes. You think it's unsettling that I answer your unvoiced thoughts. Has it occurred to you that it's *unsettling* that I answer them at all?'  
  
"To tell you the truth, I think I've gotten used to it," Sands muttered, unhappy with this realization.  
  
'By God folks, I think he likes me,' Jeffrey said in a bad game show hosts' voice. Sands just rolled his eyes.  
  
"If we're really going to meet up with Julian, we'd better get moving. I can't wait to see the look on the arrogant prick's face when he sees me at his front door," Sands said, smiling widely.  
  
***  
  
Julian Manchester was a self-centered bastard and he knew it. While this self-awareness might bother some, he was actually proud of his attitudes and feelings regarding his fellow man. He reveled in his ability to piss complete strangers off with just a few well placed and demeaning words. His favorite pastimes, other than that of course, were spending money and chasing woman. He had an ample supply of each.  
  
He absently swirled his glass of single malt scotch as he decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his day. Halloween was tomorrow evening, and he'd have to start going through party invitations sooner or later to see if any of them were worth his attendance. He had put it off until now because he didn't like to rush anything he did. He liked to take the world at his own pace.  
  
He picked up the stack of tastefully decorated black and orange envelopes piled on the edge of his desk where his butler had placed them and started scanning the names of the senators, local businessmen; all of Baltimore and the surrounding area's elite seemed to be throwing a party. But Julian knew he would attend only one. He pulled out a heavy black piece of paper, the inscription on the front in blood-red ink. It was tied shut with a piece of ebony colored silk, and it certainly had his attention.  
  
"Mr. Julian Manchester, you are cordially invited to attend the Halloween masquerade ball of Sir Finlay McGovern at the McGovern Estates at promptly 8pm, 31 October 2003. Please RSPV immediately," he read out loud in the echoing confines of his study. "Sir McGovern's throwing a party this year? Dear God, I didn't think the arrogant old bastard even knew what the word party meant. Still, I suppose I'll have to make an appearance. A Halloween masquerade, huh? How pathetically old-fashioned," he muttered, gathering up all the other invitations in a hand, walking over to the 7 foot tall fireplace that took up nearly an entire wall of his study, and tossed them into it, the flames eagerly consuming the expensive paper.  
  
He turned away from the fire to hear his butler's loud footsteps coming across the wooden floor. He had made them purposefully loud so he wouldn't accidentally startle Julian out of his thoughts. It was the mark of a man who knew how to serve, and how to serve well. Julian gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for discovering and employing such a man. "Respond to this at once," he said without preamble, placing the dark envelope in the butler's immaculate white gloved hand. "And tell Rachel to find a suitable costume for tomorrow night. She knows my tastes," he said casually in reference to his personal assistant. She even knew his sizes without asking before she'd reaffirmed that information more...intimately. The thought brought a smirk to his handsome face. "That will be all," he said, dismissing the butler with a wave of his scotch-laden hand, making the amber liquid come precariously close to spilling out onto the polished hard wood floors.  
  
"Very good, sir," the butler said, and silently made his way out, the shoes that had made such noise on the floor almost completely silent.  
  
Julian nodded absently and too a sip of his scotch as he watched the other invitations burn. Such an action would surely offend more than one of the sender should they have found out, but he didn't care. He cared about precious little in the world, actually. His money and his image were what mattered most to him. While for some men, a life that ultimately ended up cold an alone, Julian had always been surrounded by more than willing women. True, he hadn't actually loved a single one of them, but he was happy enough without such a primitive emotion as love, thank you very much.  
  
Taking at long look at himself in a mirror propped up in a corner of the large study, it was little wonder women found himself irresistible. His dirty blonde hair was tastefully sculpted into a popular style, drawing attention to his strong jaw, high cheek bones and denim blue eyes that women seemed to especially love. He had often been told that he had a face than an audience would love, and he certainly enjoyed playing up that fact. He was vain, bordering on narcissistic, and he knew it. But again, he couldn't be bothered to care. Another extraordinary thing he seemed to have been blessed with was a British accent. He could never fully understand how American women seemed to swoon at even the merest of words out of his mouth, colored by his still thick accent even after spending nearly ten years in the United States, but he didn't question it. He merely took advantage of its effects.  
  
"What is it now?" he asked without turning as he heard his butler's loud walk once more.  
  
"Forgive me for interrupting you sir, but there is a man in the hall to see you. He said he was an old friend of yours from Washington DC. Shall I send him in?"  
  
An old friend of his from DC? That had to mean from grad school, but he didn't have any friends from there. In fact, everyone there had hated him. They had also respected him, but the hatred was the chief emotion. The thought made him smirk. "What did this friend say his name was?" he asked slowly, annoyed that his butler hadn't mentioned it right away.  
  
"Pardon sir, a Mr. Sands," he announced.  
  
Sands..there could be only one man of that name with the audacity to show up at his doorstep now. If it were him, that manipulative bastard, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.  
  
The butler nodded and turned on his heel, to bring back his visitor. He returned a minute later, a darkly dressed man following closely behind him. Julian narrowed his eyes slightly as the sight of him confirmed his suspicions. Sheldon Sands, although if he caught you using his first name to his face, you'd more than likely come away from the confrontation with a few missing teeth. Julian had always looked down on the man's inability to hide his emotions better than that. Glancing over the man's cool exterior now, it looked as if he had learned how to hide his emotions very well since he had last seen him.  
  
"Sands, what an unpleasant surprise," he muttered under his breath before giving the butler a look that told him he wanted him to leave. Once the two of them were alone, Sands made himself at home in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace as if they were the old friends he had told his butler they were. Nothing could be further from the truth.  
  
"Hello Julian, old pal. How's life?" Sands asked cheerfully.  
  
"Cut the bullshit, Sands. What do you want? More money, is that it? You're not going to get one more red cent out of me you bastard," Julian said coldly.  
  
Sands tsked, "Aww, and here it was that I thought you'd be happy to see me. Oh well. You want to know what I want? I'll tell you. I'm going to be staying here for awhile, and I want you to play the gracious host without whining."  
  
Julian spluttered. Was he mad? He wanted him to do what?! "Excuse me?" he nearly shouted.  
  
'Look at him, his face is turning red. I think he's a little upset with us, Sands,' Jeffrey commented.  
  
"And what makes you think I'm not going to call security on you right now, you ungrateful son of a bitch?" Julian fumed.  
  
"You didn't even know my mother. I seemed to have killed her long before we ever met," Sands said off-handedly. "But that isn't the point. The point is that I've still got power over you, Julian old chum. What would you say if I were to tell you that I didn't give you all the evidence I had on you?" he smirked, and Julian saw red, lunging at him quicker than Sands had time to anticipate.  
  
Julian swelled in victory as he felt Sands' face jerk back under the onslaught of his fist. That feeling abruptly faded as he felt something cold against his throat.  
  
Sands stood in front of him, an at least 6-inch blade held unwavering against Julian's throat. When he spoke, blood trickled down his chin from his now split lip. "If you ever touch us again, I won't hesitate to slit your throat. Do you understand?" his voice sent a chill down Julian's spine. The chill emanated chiefly not from the feeling of a bloody enormous knife at his throat, but from the fact that the voice didn't sound like Sands at all.  
  
"Did you just say us?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down on the edge of the knife.  
  
"Yes I fucking said, 'us.' You didn't answer my question. Do you understand what I asked you?" Sands asked viciously, pressing the knife even harder into the tender flesh of Julian's throat, spilling a little blood that made Jeffrey cheer. He had purchased the knife at a gun shop after he had bought himself a new black silk shirt. It was a shame there was a waiting period for purchasing handguns, but the knife was rather effective at the moment.  
  
"Yes I bloody understand!" Julian moaned, blood running down his neck.  
  
"Good," he said, finally easing the pressure off of Julian's throat. "Otherwise, I'll kill you. Don't doubt it."  
  
"You're bloody insane, do you realize that?" Julian near shouted, holding a hand to his bleeding neck. "You fucking cut me!"  
  
"Oh it's just a scratch, you pathetic bastard. And yes, we do realize that, but thanks for pointing it out," Sands said sarcastically. "And keep your voice down. You don't want to be causing a scene, do you Julian? You've never been one for causing scenes. I'm not sure I blame you. I don't like creating scenes either. But Jeffrey on the other hand, he'd love to kill you right now. But I hold him back because you're going to behave yourself, aren't you?"  
  
'Dear God, he's completely lost it. Who in God's name was Jeffrey?' Julian asked himself, his hand still tightly pressed against his still-bleeding throat. "Who's Jeffrey?" he hadn't wanted to ask, hadn't wanted to risk Sands' wrath again, but he couldn't help it. He had always been too inquisitive for his own good. One of his few faults.  
  
"Who's Jeffrey? Well that's easy, Julian. I'm Jeffrey," Sands said in that voice that clearly wasn't his again. "And I'm Sands," he said, sounding exactly as he had in school. The two voices were similar, obviously they would be if they were from the same person, but they were not the same. The first was deeper, more rough sounding than Sands' usual calmly toned voice. "And neither of us are Sheldon. We agreed that no one in their right mind, which we perhaps may not be, would choose that godforsaken name."  
  
"Dear God. You mean to say, you're what, schizophrenic?" Julian whispered, unbelieving what he saw right in front of him.  
  
"And he gets it on the first try, how about that? He doesn't seem so dumb after all, Sands," Jeffrey commented. "But look at him now; I think we've frightened dear Julian. Too bad," he snickered.  
  
"There really are two of you, impossible. You weren't like this at school. Someone would have caught it. What in God's name has happened to you?" Julian asked quietly. He truly hated Sands for blackmailing him at school with pictures of he and one of the married professors in bed together, but he found he couldn't deny the horrified pity that filled him at such a sight.  
  
"To tell you the truth? Neither of us knows. Or at least, if Jeffrey knows, he's not telling. This day has been fucked up from the beginning. Ever wake up in bed with a dead woman, Julian? Well, I have. Let's just say, it was a unique experience. Then Jeffrey made his presence known, and things kinda went full tilt after that," Sands said with a small smile.  
  
"My God," Julian whispered, sinking in the seat next to the one Sands had reclaimed after removing the knife from his neck. "You need help," he muttered.  
  
"Oh, we need more than that at this point, Julian buddy. Sands and I need a place to lie low for awhile, so to speak. I figure, since he's still got those pictures of you and the lady professor doing the nasty, and what a fine piece of ass she was by the way, you'll be more than willing to give us that help," Jeffrey said with a chuckle.  
  
The entire situation was making Julian's head spin. Here he was, talking to two men sharing the same body. It was enough to drive him insane. "Why do you need to lie low? You have your own home, several of them in fact. Why here?" A horrid thought occurred to him, "What have you done?"  
  
"He's a smart cookie, Sands. You'd better watch out for him," Jeffrey advised.  
  
"I needed to get out of DC for awhile. As for what I've done? I'm sure it'll be on the evening news even here in Baltimore. Jeffrey created quite the little scene in a restaurant today, surrounded by witnesses. Not his most shining moment, but it worked in a pinch," Sands said with a smirk.  
  
"Watch it, fuckmook. I got our asses out of there, remember? Rivers would have had you for sure had it not been for me," Jeffrey reminded him.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Sands said, waving a hand to dismiss his other half.  
  
Julian didn't know if he'd be able to put up with Sands arguing with himself, no his other personality, much longer. Especially when that other personality answered back. "Tell me what you've done, or I'll call security and damn the consequences," it was an empty threat, and Sands caught it.  
  
"You wouldn't do that, Julian. You value your own life too much. So, you don't want to wait for the evening news? Fine, I'll tell you what we've done. Mostly because I know you won't go to the cops, and second of all, the cops already know what I've done. The CIA some fucking how, too. Anyway, as I said before, I woke up in bed next to a dead woman this morning. A beautiful girl by the name of Yvette. Well, she had been beautiful before Jeffrey went to work on her, anyway. Do you think you might have gone a little far on that one, you psychotic bastard?" he asked aloud.  
  
"No, not really. And what are you complaining about? It's not as if you care. And don't call me a psychotic bastard you sociopathic fuck," Jeffrey sneered.  
  
Sands sighed, "This can go on for quite awhile, forgive us. We don't exactly get along yet. Anyway, dead girl in the bed, name of Yvette. She also unfortunately worked for the CIA which is why I've got them on my ass too."  
  
"What, what did you do with her body?" Julian asked softy, horrified at the scene before him.  
  
"Oh, it's dissolved into nothingness along with a transvestite I killed in a bathtub in a particularly seedy hotel room in the middle of downtown DC. So no worries there," he said with a smirk.  
  
"And how many other people have you," Julian took a breath to calm himself, "have you killed today?"  
  
"Let's see," Sands said, looking thoughtful. "There was the old woman Jeffrey set on fire in the restaurant, that's the story you're likely to see on the evening news, Mrs. Marta Sprout, the owner of said restaurant and the one who tried to turn me into the cops and the CIA, and some nameless guy on the street that tried to beat me up," he looked thoughtful for a moment, "You know what? I think he was the bartender of the restaurant as well. Huh, that explains a few things. So only," he counted off fingers, "four today."  
  
"And what makes you think I won't turn you into the cops?" Julian asked, cursing the wavering of his voice.  
  
"Because Julian, if you did that, the number would be five," Jeffrey said with a menacing smile. "And you don't want that, do you?"  
  
"Oh don't listen to him," Sands reassured. "As long as you play nice, we'll have no reason to kill you, savvy?" Sands paused a moment to consider what he had just said. "Damnit, Jeffrey. Now you've got me saying that ridiculous word too," he grumbled.  
  
"You could really do that? Just kill me?" as soon as he had asked the question; Julian had known it was foolish. The man or men rather, in front of him would not hesitate to end his life should he displease them. It was not a comforting thought.  
  
"As I mentioned before, I seem to have killed my own parents, Julian. The man and woman who brought me into this life, such as it is, and raised me. I killed them both without hesitation. Now what makes you think I wouldn't do the same to you in a heartbeat? I don't even like you," Sands said with a sardonic grin.  
  
"Fine, I'll help you. But for God's sake, could you lay off the conversations with yourself, with Jeffrey, with whomever the fuck he is for awhile? Or else I'm going to go bloody insane."  
  
"Sure thing, Julian old pal. We'll be good, promise," Jeffrey said in a tone of voice that implied he planned to do nothing of the sort. Julian just sighed in resignation.  
  
"Would you like me to show you to your room?" he said, and Sands smirked.  
  
***  
  
"And there's still no sign of him?" Roland asked brusquely, pissed off beyond all believe.  
  
"No, none. If he's still in DC then we can't find him. He has to be somewhere else," Susannah gently informed him.  
  
"Fuck!" Roland shouted. Sands had been within his grasp. What had happened? Where the fuck had he gone? Hadn't the DC police plastered his picture up on the side of a billboard by now after all that he had done? Good God, this was not happening.  
  
"Don't you fucking yell at her, Rivers! It's not her fault that the bastard's slipped away. So he's a slippery one, I'll give him that, but that doesn't mean that we've lost him. He can't have gotten very far. Now use that brain you're so inexplicably proud of and think about this for one second. He couldn't have taken any of his cars; we've got surveillance on all of them. And you're required to pass through security at the airport, so what does that leave?"  
  
"A train, the bastard's left on a train," Roland muttered, even more pissed off that he hadn't thought of such an idea before. "He had to have left on a train. Everything else would have been too risky."  
  
"And give the genius a cookie," Emily muttered. Roland ignored her, the wheels of his mind now moving faster than he had time to express.  
  
"It would have to be somewhere close, somewhere for him to lie low outside of DC for awhile. He knows we're after him. Susannah, check all the outgoing train-"  
  
"I'm already on it," Susannah said, speaking over her cellphone as she called up DC information for a number of the train station.  
  
Roland nodded and waited for her to finish, the energy he had felt upon seeing Sands in the restaurant flowing through his veins once more. 'The bastard may think he's gotten away, but he underestimates my persistence. I'll see him burn if it's the last thing I do.'  
  
After a few long minutes of impatience, Susannah finally spoke again. "There was no record of a S. J. Sands or even a Sheldon Sands listed as a passenger for any of the trains that have left within the hour. But, there was a J. Sands on a train for Baltimore. Do you suppose it could be a coincidence?"  
  
"I don't believe in coincidences," Roland muttered, his ice blue eyes going cold. "Pack your bags, kiddies. We're going to Baltimore," he snickered, and the chase had begun once more.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Well that was fun. How did all of you like Julian? Am I getting away with the addition of all these new characters? I sure hope so. Let me know what you think. Thanks! 


	10. Seething Shadows Breathing Lies

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I own Jeffrey, Roland, Julian, Susannah, Emily, pretty much every character *but* SJ. Wanna trade?  
  
Cast: Sands/Jeffrey-Johnny Depp Roland Rivers-Julian Sands, freaky coincidental hybrid name! Emily Brisbane-Nicole Kidman Susannah Cartwright-Ashley Judd Julian Manchester-Jude Law  
  
Author's Note: Um.......this chapter got a little, actually a lot.......LONG. You can thank/blame Halia and Neon Daises for that one. They wouldn't let me stop writing!!  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, a smut scene much, much later on, and violent graphic imagery.  
  
Chapter Ten: Seething Shadows and Breathing Lies  
  
"Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies . . .Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you!" –The Phantom of the Opera  
  
'I don't like this fucking place,' Jeffrey complained upon waking up in the strange bed in one of the many guestrooms of Julian's estate. Sands didn't answer; he seemed to be still asleep. Julian rolled his eyes but decided that he might as not bother to wake Sands up and make use of the opportunity to be in control for a little while without Sands whining in the background. He grimaced when he came to the piles of clean, new clothes that Sands had ordered before he had gone to bed. 'He has got to fucking get over with this obsession with black. It's getting annoying.'  
  
His eyes narrowed to see a small piece of paper laid gently on top of the piles of clothes. He picked it up, and held it out in front of him to read it. It was a note from one of the many servants that seemed to flock about this place telling him that breakfast was at 7 sharp. The note bewildered him a bit longer, how had a servant managed to sneak into the room without either of them hearing? They definitely had to work on that or they would end up caught. He frowned and glanced over to the bedside table at the small clock there. 6:45, not a whole lot of time to get ready for breakfast, but he'd make it. He didn't have the impulsive daily morning shower routine that Sands did. He'd taken one last night before going to sleep, and he could take another one this afternoon if he needed it.  
  
With a martyred sigh, he dressed in the black ensemble that Sands had chosen for them to wear today. He then combed his fingers though his sleep- mussed hair and made his way downstairs to where he assumed the kitchen to be. "This house is like a fucking maze," he muttered under his breath. "Not even our parents' mansion was this bad. Now granted, its appearance was improved greatly when it burned to the ground, but it still wasn't this bad." He eventually resorted to following his nose, and made his way to the large kitchen on the scent of fresh baked something or other. Jeffrey didn't know what it was, and he didn't care, but God it smelled wonderful.  
  
"Good morning, Sands," Julian called out from his place at the breakfast table, the local newspaper propped up in front of his face and a cup of steaming coffee at his side.  
  
"Wrong guy, so sorry. Sands is still asleep," Jeffrey commented offhandedly as he helped himself to a plate of nearly everything Julian's chef had to offer, his hand drawn immediately to the fresh blueberry muffins. It had been their scent that had led him to the kitchen.  
  
Julian blinked, folding his paper down at his side. Had he said what he thought he had said? "What do you mean Sands is asleep? You're Sands. Aren't you?" he began to look unsure of himself.  
  
"No, I'm Jeffrey, come out to play. We were never properly introduced. I'm Jeffrey, Sands' better half. Well his more psychotic half anyway. He's the sociopath and I'm the psychopath. It's rather a unique arrangement actually. Anyway, I don't fucking like you; I just have to put up with you. And even then, I may decide I don't want to put up with you any longer, and just kill you. But it's a risk that you're going to have to take, I'm afraid."  
  
Julian had set his paper down at his side by now, his coffee growing cold at his side, and stared unblinking at Jeffrey who took a seat across from him at the table and began eating his muffin. In truth, he had gone to bed last night hoping that all of it had been a horrible nightmare. Not only was what happened real, but the worst of it was now sitting across from him devouring a blueberry muffin. "You're Jeffrey, not Sands?" he asked slowly, staring at the man.  
  
Jeffrey looked up and a part of Julian wished he looked somehow different than Sands. Because other than the attitude and voice, there was nothing he could use to tell the difference between the two of them. Not that there should have been, they were the same person, after all. God, just thinking about it made his head hurt. "Have you got something in your ears, fuckmoook? I just told you that Sands is still asleep. Don't ask me how that's possible, I don't have a fucking clue, and I don't care. I'm taking advantage of that fact," he looked down at the muffin he was currently holding. "The bastard probably doesn't even like blueberry muffins," he grumbled.  
  
"This is bloody surreal. You're a completely different person," Julian mused to himself, trying to wrap his mind around what was sitting right in front of him.  
  
Jeffrey rolled his eyes, not bothering to waste his time on an answer to such an obviously stupid question. Suddenly, his awareness shifted as he felt Sands waking up. It was a rather unique experience, to say the least. "Fuck, he stirs," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, causing Julian to cast a confused eye toward him.  
  
"What did you say?" Julian asked, watching as Jeffrey shook his head sharply.  
  
"Fuck, I take it I didn't exactly sleepwalk down here?" Sands asked upon seeing Julian sitting across from him at the table and noticing the half- eaten muffin in his hand. "Jeffrey, you bastard. Had yourself a little breakfast without me, huh?" he muttered, frowning as he set the muffin down. He didn't even like blueberry muffins. "Good morning, Julian. Did you and Jeffrey have a nice chat?" he asked, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.  
  
"Sands?" Julian asked timidly.  
  
"Who else would it be? Don't answer that," Sands hastened to add. "Yes it's me. So, what's on the agenda today?"  
  
Julian scowled, not even bothering to hope that Sands would just leave after one night. He was stuck with the bastard, for better or worse. "Do you know Finlay McGovern?" he asked.  
  
"Sir Finlay McGovern? Of course I know him. I'm schizophrenic, not stupid. He's only one of the richest men on the east coast, present company notwithstanding. He's throwing a party tonight, correct? Some kind of old- fashioned masquerade ball. I had originally intended on going for appearance sake if nothing else before my current predicament came about. Why do you ask?"  
  
'Wait a minute, you didn't tell me this. What party, I'm not going to any fucking boring party,' Jeffrey spoke up. Sands told him to shut up under his breath.  
  
"Because that's where I'll be tonight," Julian sighed slowly, "I assume you and.......Jeffrey are going to tag along?"  
  
"Oh fuck no. You two are not dragging me to any hoity toity party. I'd rather have my hands smashed to bloodied bits with a sledgehammer than go to something like that," Jeffrey said stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest.  
  
Sands uncrossed his arms and glared. "You don't have a choice. And those are my hands you're talking about smashing too, you know. So just put up and shut up," Sands said firmly. Jeffrey took over again and scowled but didn't say anything further.  
  
"I think I need a drink," Julian said, running a hand wearily across his face.  
  


* * *

  
"He's starting to get obsessed, Sus, trust me on this. He dragged our asses all the way here to Baltimore and he doesn't even have a real lead on Sands yet. And aren't we supposed to be in DC for another couple of days of boring meetings? Langley is not going to be happy about this," Emily was aware she didn't sound like her normal self, but she didn't care. On any other circumstance she might have been overjoyed to get out of the tedium of some of the assignments the CIA sent her on, but this was not one of those times. Roland was beginning to lose it, and she could see it happening before her eyes if Susannah couldn't. All he seemed to care about any more was catching Sands. The fact that he was going after him for Yvette's death in the first place no longer seemed to concern him. He hadn't even attempted to find out where Sands had hid her body, for God's sake.  
  
"I understand what you're telling me, Emily," Susannah said as she unpacked her suitcase on the bed of the Baltimore Marriott. "But I agree with Roland on this one. Sands needs to be stopped or more people are going to die. I can't just sit around in DC in meetings all day with that hanging over my head, I just can't."  
  
"And when did you start calling him Roland, Susannah? You're not making the mistake of letting him get to you, are you? No, you're too smart for that. You know what kind of man he is as well as I do. He's married for God's sake. I've met his wife. She's a lovely woman who's definitely too smart to be married to such an ass as him. I have absolutely no idea what she sees in him. I asked her to tell me what he did to get her to marry him, but she just laughed and said he had been himself. What the hell kind of answer is that? I've seen how he acts when he's just being himself, and I wouldn't touch him let alone marry him."  
  
"How did things ever get so bad between you two, Emily? You never told me. And don't give some line about how you're simply standing up for Yvette and the way he treated her. We both know Yvette's taste in men. If they were breathing and at least moderately good looking, she'd sleep with them in a heartbeat. Maybe you've forgotten that. So this thing between you and Roland has got to be something else. What is it, Emily? Why are you constantly at each other's throats all the time? Because frankly, it's beginning to wear on my nerves."  
  
"Don't change the fucking subject on me, Susannah. This isn't about me and him. It's about you. What happened to you? Before all of this started you didn't even think about breaking the rules. And now you're following in River's footsteps like you're some kind of lost dog. Are you his bitch now, is that it? Yvette's replacement?" Emily was cut off as Susannah slapped her forcefully across the cheek, the sound ringing in the now silent room. "That was out of line, I'm sorry," Emily said quietly, not bothering to finger the now red handprint across her face.  
  
"You're damn right, it was. But we've been friends since training, Emily. I'd be foolish to let something like this come between us," she sighed and sat down heavily on one of the two beds that took up the majority of the space in the small hotel room. "But maybe you're right. I have been letting Roland; Agent Rivers get to me lately. I don't know what it is. It's something about this case.......it gives me the creeps, Em. And I'm not the type to get the creeps."  
  
"I know. I feel the same way," Emily said, sitting down on the opposite bed, the palm print still blazing brightly on her left cheek. Susannah winced as she saw it.  
  
"Let me get you some ice for your face," she said, standing up to get the ice bucket, her pervious anger non-existent.  
  
"Don't bother. I deserved it. We do need to talk about Rivers though. Something's different about him lately. I think this case is getting to him. First Sands killed his lover," she suppressed a wince to say that, "and then Sands killed Mrs. Sprout while on the phone with him. I think he feels responsible for what happened."  
  
"I think you're right," Susannah said softly, sinking back onto the bed.  
  


* * *

  
Roland sat at the small table in his single hotel room and cleaned his .357 with a single-minded determination. It would no doubt have to be used in the future, and he wanted no chance of it failing him when he needed it most. An agent in the field had to rely on his weapon, and it had to rely on him to keep it working smoothly. He had to treat it as an extension of his arm, otherwise he would no doubt hesitate in the final moment, and that was how careless agents ended up dead. He sat there cleaning and oiling every moving part of the gun, thinking about it and his purpose right now. His vision had become narrowed to only one thought; he had to catch Sands.  
  
He closed his eyes briefly as he finished cleaning his gun, hearing Marta's screams echoing in his ears. He had gotten her killed by taunting Sands.......hadn't he? A part of him insisted that Sands would have killed her anyway without his intervention, but the rest of him screamed out that he was responsible. That he had pushed Sands over the edge. This was irrational and he knew it, Sands had been pushed over the edge long before Roland had even known he had existed, but he couldn't help feeling that way, and it was starting to piss him off.  
  
"Damn you, you bastard for making me feel this way," Roland muttered to the empty room. Before this case had come along, he had prided himself on his detachment from his work. He had been able to go through his days nearly without a lick of guilt for anything he had done. It had caused many of his harsher critics to label him as a sociopath, but that wasn't true. He had felt guilt for some of the things he had done; he simply couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it. At least, not until now.  
  
He grunted in frustration and put away the now oil-soiled rags cloth he used to routinely clean his gun with, and replaced the .357 back in the holster at his belt. He then pulled on the dark suit coat he had laid across the bed and after turning to lock the door he made his way across the hall to where Susannah and Emily were staying.  
  
"Come in," a voice called before his raised hand even had a chance to knock. He frowned and opened the door.  
  
"I could hear your lumbering gait coming all the way down the hall," Emily muttered when he sent her a questioning look.  
  
Roland pointedly ignored that and spoke, "I think I might have an idea where Sands might go next. We're going by the theory that he met up with someone he knows here in Baltimore, correct?" he waited as Susannah and Emily, albeit grudgingly, nodded. "The only person I've been able to come up with who even knows Sands is a man by the name of Julian Manchester. He and Sands apparently went to school together."  
  
"Wait a minute, *the* Julian Manchester? And this just keeps getting better and better. Or should I say richer and richer. Julian Manchester is one of the richest most eligible bachelors on the east coast," Emily hummed approvingly. "What? Have you seen a picture of him? He's hot. Not quite sex- on-a-stick like our darling psychotic Sands is, damn it, but definitely beddable."  
  
Roland coughed at that and went on, "That's not all. From what I've heard from the few alumni I've managed to track down, it was widely speculated that Mr. Manchester was suspected in having an affair with one of his professors. And that Sands had blackmailed him with a set of rather revealing photographs. There was never any proof, but knowing what I do now about Sands, it wouldn't surprise me. But that's my best guess on where Sands is now. We can head over to the Manchester Estate right now and check for ourselves, but something tells me we won't find anything even if he had been there."  
  
"If Julian Manchester is as rich as you say he is, Emily then I think I know where he'll be tonight," Susannah supplied. "Tonight's Halloween. We just have to find out where the biggest and fanciest party in town is tonight, and it's a good chance he'll be there. I wouldn't be surprised if Sands made an appearance too, knowing his social status."  
  
"Fuck, it's Halloween already? I hadn't even noticed," Roland stated, checking his watch to confirm the date.  
  
"God don't you two read the papers? Sir Finlay McGovern is throwing the first Halloween party in 20 years, and if you've got a string of zeroes in your bank account balance, you'll be there. It's only been the most talked about event this month. Where have you two been?" Emily scolded with a frown. "Of course Manchester is going to be there. Sands too. He wouldn't be able to not go to this, trust me."  
  
Roland seemed to ponder this before turning to the two of them. "I don't suppose either of you has a costume?"  
  


* * *

  
"I bet you think you're a funny fucker, huh?" Jeffrey asked as he looked down at what Julian had selected for him and Sands to wear that night. It was a silk suit, one half a deep midnight black that Sands would love, and the other a dark red that reminded Julian of dried blood. The division was right down the middle, splitting the suit in two, one side for Sands, one for Jeffrey. Julian only shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling. Jeffrey scowled. "I bet Sands even likes it too. God, you people have no taste whatsoever," he muttered.  
  
"I'm not saying a word," Sands said holding his hands up. He did kind of like it, though.  
  
"I knew it!" Jeffrey shouted, having heard Sands' reaction. "This is fucking unfair. It's not like I can choose to stay home. I'm stuck going to this goddamned party with you two bastards, and it's fucking unfair."  
  
"You might have a good time, Jeffrey. You never know," Julian said, beginning to get used to hearing the two men within one body in front of him, as unlikely as that seemed.  
  
Jeffrey just glared. "Don't you dare patronize me, you arrogant bastard. I'm pissed off at you. You just encourage him," he said petulantly, referring to Sands. "Fine, I'll go to the fucking party. But if I don't kill someone soon, I'm going to go fucking insane," Jeffrey commented darkly.  
  
Sands frowned. "I'm not sure that's possible at this point, Jeffrey," Sands said, not bothering to acknowledge Jeffrey's comment about killing someone.  
  
"Oh shut the fuck up. I'm pissed at you too," Jeffrey said, and Sands could feel a monstrous headache coming on. "How do you like that, you bastard?"  
  
Sands put the heel of his right hand to his forehead and shut his eyes tightly. "You petty son of a bitch," he muttered, his head pounding. "That's fucking low, even for you."  
  
"Deal with it," Jeffrey said with a cold glee.  
  
Julian went still and felt his throat go dry. Had he really thought he was getting used to hearing the two of them argue just a minute ago? What the hell had he been thinking? They had just talked about killing someone without a second thought! Sands and Jeffrey had been relatively balanced throughout the day, and kept out of his way most of the time, but this was too much to deal with at the moment. The party started in two hours, and that was two hours too long in his book. He needed to get away from his unwelcome house 'guests' and soon or they'd end up giving him the padded cell right next to Sands'. "I think I'm going to go start getting ready too. There's also a mask that goes with the suit. It's in a bag on my desk in the study with mine. The party starts in two hours, don't forget."  
  
Jeffrey rolled his eyes at this and watched Julian leave with flat eyes. As if he could forget. Sands was actually excited to go to this goddamned party. Jeffrey scowled at that thought until something occurred to him which brightened his mood considerably. Every person there would be in masks and uninhibited because of it. There was something freeing in putting on a mask. You could do pretty much whatever the hell you wanted because no one would know that it was you doing it. Jeffrey grinned widely.  
  
"What are you grinning at?" Sands asked, his eyes narrowing as he lightly ran a hand across the smooth silk of the red and black suit. He didn't like this abrupt change in Jeffrey's mood. It meant he was no doubt planning something, and while Jeffrey could read what Sands' was thinking, he couldn't do the same.  
  
'Nothing you need to worry about. At least, not now anyway,' Jeffrey whispered within his mind. He only spoke out loud when Julian was there to hear him, which Sands was ultimately grateful for. He didn't have a good image in his mind of what would happen should someone of medical persuasion overhear his conversations with Jeffrey. He was dangerously schizophrenic and he knew it, he just didn't want anyone else to. Which meant that Julian would have to die eventually. Sands didn't trust him to keep his secret once he had left Baltimore. Hell, he didn't necessarily trust the self- serving bastard alone at the party either.  
  
'That's a good point. What if gets to the police somehow? What are we going to do then? I sincerely doubt that fucking CIA agent,' Jeffrey paused as he searched Sands' mind for his name, "Rivers is going to just let us go. We killed his woman, Yvette. If he had done that to me I'd want his head on a platter. Literally.'  
  
Sands sighed. "Me too, damn it. But I'm not going to hide from him. If he's here in Baltimore out for our blood tonight, may the best man win. But I'm certainly not going down without a fight."  
  
'Glad to hear you're not turning out to be such a pussy after all, Sands,' Jeffrey said approvingly. Sands just grunted at that and started getting ready for the party.  
  


* * *

  
Julian brushed a piece of imaginary lint off of his immaculate red suit. While the two-toned suit Sands would be wearing was completely his idea, he had left his own costume to his assistant Rachel's more than capable hands. "Hmm, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. I wonder if she's trying to tell me something?" he mused aloud as he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He was in a bright red tuxedo with tails, and a tie to match. He had chosen to wear a soft black silk dress shirt, the same kind Sands seemed to be so fond of, underneath the jacket, and affixed an onyx tie pin and ruby cufflinks for effect. The suit would have perhaps looked better with a bow tie, but he detested the things. He could barely stand wearing ties at all, but sometimes personal tastes had to be sacrificed for one's vanity.  
  
Rachel had provided him with an intricately carved wooden devil's mask to go with the red suit, and he had to admit it suited him rather well. He did indeed look rather devilish, he thought with a smirk. He preened a bit longer in front of the mirror before laying the mask aside and looking over the other items she had left. Good God, if he hadn't been so scrooge-like with his money, he would have given the woman a raise. She had somehow managed to procure a long black old-fashioned cape lined with red silk. It would look marvellous with the suit. She did indeed know his tastes. He smiled and left his bedroom to go and check on Sands, his coat tails flapping behind him as he walked.  
  


* * *

  
Sands stood in front of the tall mirror and took a look at the suit Julian had picked out for him to wear this evening. He had taken a quick shower despite Jeffrey's protestations that they didn't need one, and now stood in front of the mirror in the black and red suit, his hair still slightly damp around his shoulders. "Oh come on, you know we look good. Stop your bitching," he mumbled to the mirror and Jeffrey.  
  
"Fine, we look good. So what? I still don't want to fucking go," Jeffrey muttered back to him, Sands watching him speak in the mirror.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes and looked over the tux. It was cut to his lean form almost as if he had gone in and gotten it tailor-made for him rather than accepting it as the spur of the moment gift it was. The seam between the two colours was nearly indistinguishable. It truly did look like one suit. Whoever had made it had been very good at their job. He was glad he had had the presence of mind to have bought a bag of black ties for his hair while he had been out. While he preferred to leave it loose, it would look better if he tied it back.  
  
"God, you're such a Prima Donna, you know that? Sometimes you make me fucking sick," Jeffrey grumbled.  
  
"Oh fuck you, you grouchy bastard. I'm going to have a good time tonight. If you would just lighten up, you would too," Sands frowned as something occurred to him. "You're always in a good mood; in fact you're perpetually fucking cheerful. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, leave me the fuck alone. Have your fucking party, I want nothing to do with it," Jeffrey said petulantly.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you? It's just a party, for God's sake! You're acting as if I'm sending you off to your death. Something else is bugging you. Tell me what it is, you close-lipped bastard. You're still a part of me, remember? So fucking spill."  
  
Jeffrey glared at him in the mirror for a long minute before sighing. "I don't fucking know, all right? Are you fucking happy? I just know something's not right. We're slipping, Sands. You don't seem to notice, maybe it's different for you, but we're slipping."  
  
Sands went still. "What do you mean?" he asked, not daring to contemplate.  
  
Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you were relatively smart. It looks like I was giving you too much credit. Think about it, fuckmook. You're not fucking supposed to have two people in your head, and it appears to be tearing us both apart," he said with a half-smile. "One of us has got to go, and I don't intend it to be me."  
  


* * *

  
Julian almost gasped to see Sands standing there in the hallway outside of his room seeming to wait for him. He was standing with his right profile facing Julian as he walked, and from this angle it looked as if his tuxedo was entirely black. But he knew if he was coming from the opposite end of the hall it would look entirely red like his own tux but at a much darker shade. 'It looks rather like blood, actually,' Julian thought suddenly and frowned. Sands had opted for a black bowtie that he left untied and dangling under the collar of a dress shirt that same blood-red colour of his suit. He finally turned toward him and Julian saw the full effect of the two-toned suit for the first time. It was rather disturbing since he knew the reason behind it. He had initially had Rachel purchase the suit on a whim, as a joke, but now it didn't seem funny any longer.  
  
"What's the matter Julian, don't you like it?" Sands asked, walking toward him. Julian noticed he had tied his shoulder-length hair back as well. Sands ran his hands down the sides of the jacket with a small smile. "Jeffrey complained quite a bit about it, but I think he secretly likes it. But don't tell him I said that," Sands said with a conspirator's smirk.  
  
Julian paled a little at this, 'Surely he's joking. He and Jeffrey are in essence, the same person, aren't they? Dear God, I know he's mad, but just help him hold out a little while longer or I fear many people are going to die.'  
  
Sands didn't know why he had said that last line. His brain had gotten a little foggier than usual for a moment and he had said those words. Had Jeffrey been serious? He didn't feel like he was slipping....... Fuck, this was not good.  
  
"Sands? Are you still with me? I told you I liked the tux. Are you ok?" Julian said, his voice concerned.  
  
'He should be fucking concerned,' he thought to himself. Jeffrey was talking about waging a war on the plane of his mind for his sanity. Things were definitely not ok. But he couldn't let Julian know that. The bastard already knew too much as it was. "Thanks, it was a clever idea, I must admit. You got us," Sands said, forcing a smile.  
  
"It suits you.......both. You look good in black, if a little pale. Did you not get any sleep last night?" Julian asked.  
  
Sands fought down the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I slept like a baby. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Worry about the impression the two of us are going to make at this party tonight. I wonder how many reporters will be there," Sands mused.  
  
Jeffrey perked up at this, he loved being in the spotlight. "Reporters? There are going to be reporters there?" he asked.  
  
"More than likely. With a guest list like this party no doubt has, the press would be foolish not to attend. Isn't that right, Julian?" Sands asked him after answering Jeffrey's question.  
  
"I could care less about the press actually. They've always a rather annoying thorn in my side. I'm mostly going for appearances and for women, of course," he smiled like the being his costume represented and Sands couldn't stop a laugh from escaping his lips.  
  
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" he asked, shaking his head.  
  
"Not like you have," Julian murmured, and what little humour Sands had been feeling at Julian's offhand comment faded as if it had never existed.  
  
"No, definitely not like I have," Sands said coldly before finding himself inexplicably angry. "Yes, I've fucking changed. Yes, I seem to be mad as a fucking march hare, but I didn't ask for it! I didn't ask to be this way, to wake up one morning with a dead girl in bed next to you and another fucking voice in your head!"  
  
"You think I asked for this? Well fuck you Sands, I didn't ask to be attached so such a pathetic loser like you! If I can find a way to make you simply disappear forever, I'd do it gladly," Jeffrey threatened.  
  
"Oh shut the fuck up, I'm tired of this! I'm tired of your fucking games! I'm tired of you fucking killing people!" Sands screamed  
  
"I'll have you know, you sociopathic son of a bitch that it was *you* who killed most of those people, not me! So if you want to start pointing fingers, keep that in mind!" Jeffrey screamed back at him.  
  
It was Sands who pulled the knife he had strapped to his cummerbund first, but only by a few seconds. He held the six-inch blade up to the left side of his neck, Jeffrey's side, the red side, and distantly felt the pain of it against his tender skin. He also felt a slow trickle of blood make its way down his neck, and some still sane part of him bemoaned the damage it would do to his suit, but the rest of him didn't care.  
  
"You fucking idiot, you can't kill me without killing yourself," Jeffrey seethed, refusing to wince as the blade pressed harder against his neck.  
  
"I am well aware of that Jeffrey," Sands said calmly, too calmly for Jeffrey's liking. Hadn't he been screaming just a minute ago?  
  
"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Julian moaned, not believing what he was seeing. He had somehow managed to make it into hell, if just for one night, and he was not handling it well. "Come on, Sands. You're starting to scare me a little. Put down the knife, ok?" he didn't necessarily care for the man in front of him, the ungrateful bastard had blackmailed him, but some primal part of him cried out against this obviously troubled man about to take his own life. He hated it. "Fine, you want to go all Jekyll and Hyde on me, you do it on your own time. Try not to get any blood on the carpet, ok? I'll be in my bed room finishing getting ready for the party. Let me know when you're finished," he turned to leave but suddenly found the now bloodied knife at his own throat.  
  
"Who said you got to leave? Stay, things are just about to get interesting," either Sands or Jeffrey, Julian found he couldn't tell who was speaking any longer, smiled cruelly at him. Julian nodded and the knife was removed from his throat and switched to Sands' left hand.  
  
"Now, where were we?" Jeffrey asked, holding the knife to the right side of his neck, Sands' side, the black side, with the same force Sands had held it with. "Oh yes, you were threatening to end my life and consequently your own, is that it? Not a very smart move, Sheldon. You didn't think I'd let you get away with it, did you?"  
  
"Don't fucking call me that," Sands grunted, blood beginning to run down the right side of his neck too. If he ever made it to the party, he sincerely doubted anyone would buy the 'I cut myself shaving,' excuse.  
  
"Well isn't this interesting? We seem to have come to yet another Mexican stand-off, haven't we? And here I thought we'd fucking had our fill of those yesterday. We are going to have a confrontation, you and I, but not tonight." Jeffrey removed the knife from Sands' neck and placed it back in its sheath at his waist.  
  
Sands just stood there, not moving, blood running down both sides of his neck in identical cuts, disbelieving what had just happened. Jeffrey had been the one to end it. He had stopped when Sands had not. What kind of fucked up universe had he stumbled into now? Jeffrey had the impulse control of a fucking disgruntled postal worker in a gun shop, for God's sake. "Why did you stop? I'm supposed to be the fucking cool-headed one, not you! You're impulsive! Why'd you stop?"  
  
"We're both changing, Sands. I remember when you didn't use to curse so much," Jeffrey said with a smirk. "Anyway, I thought we had a fucking party to get to. Isn't that right, Julian?" Jeffrey turned to look at him.  
  
"Yes, the party," Julian said in a slight daze before shaking his head and glancing at his watch. "Bloody hell, we've got less than 45 minutes. We've got to go. Clean yourself up and tie your tie. I'll be in my study." Julian hurried to leave while he had the option.  
  
Sands and Jeffrey stared at Julian's retreat down the hall, the blood still flowing, albeit sluggishly, down his neck. 'What are you just standing there for? I thought you wanted to go to this stupid party? If you tell me I got in this monkey suit for nothing, I am going to fucking kill you,' Jeffrey promised.  
  
"The party, right," Sands muttered with a frown, heading back into his room. He walked purposefully toward the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror to survey the damage to his neck. The cuts hadn't hurt all that much initially, it had been a sharp knife, but now they stung like hell. He cursed and grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bag of cotton balls out of the medicine cabinet and applied a liberal dose to both sides of his neck, hissing in pain as he did so. The bowtie would probably be torture to wear, but he'd do it anyway. At least that way the cuts would be relatively hidden.  
  
'You know how to tie one of those, right?' Jeffrey asked once the pain had died down a little.  
  
"In theory. It's been awhile," Sands muttered, grabbing the loose ends of the tie.  
  
'Fucking perfect. Should I call Julian back? I don't want to be here all night trying to tie this stupid thing.'  
  
"Julian probably doesn't know how. He's always hated wearing ties from what I can remember. He only wears them for appearances, and even then, he doesn't wear them for very long," Sands said, his hands moving automatically in half-remembered movements. After a moment, he looked down and saw a perfectly tied bowtie at his throat. "Well fuck me, how about that? I guess I remembered after all. Or you did."  
  
'Oh no, not me. I wouldn't waste space in our brain with such useless crap like how to tie a bow-tie,' Jeffrey muttered, scowling ineffectually at the black knot of silk at his throat. 'Let's get this dance number started and over with. Grab our coat.'  
  
Sands grabbed the coat and the two of them made their way down to Julian's study where Julian already had his heavy cape and top hat on, looking impatient. He was also wearing, and Sands sincerely hoped it wasn't a hallucination, a wooden devil's mask to go with the red suit. "Oh fuck, I forgot. This is a masquerade, isn't it? What's the damage?" he asked, referring to the mask Julian had chosen for him to wear with the suit.  
  
"It's much less extravagant than mine, don't worry," Julian muttered. He handed Sands a small black lacquered wooden mask, the right side completely covered in bright red feathers that looked like flames. It would compliment the black and red suit perfectly, which was no doubt Julian's intention in the first place. It also played off the divided them that he had thought was so fucking clever, as well. It tied in place with two black silk strips, which Sands had no difficulty tying. Julian nodded in approval once he had tied the mask securely, and felt like an animal paraded on display. He didn't like it so he only scowled when Julian directed him to take a look at himself in the tall standing mirror. Julian held up his hands in a non-threatening manner when he saw that scowl. "I just thought you might like to see what it looked like, that's all," he said quickly.  
  
"Well, we don't fucking like feeling like were on display, savvy?" Jeffrey grumbled, but moved to the mirror. He had to admit when he stepped in front of the mirror, that they did look good, however. Julian may have been an arrogant and stupid bastard, but he did have taste. The flame-looking red feathers were on the right side, above the black half of his suit. The overall effect was rather unique, he admitted. He still didn't want to go to the party, but at least he looked good.  
  
"Well gee, I think he likes it, Julian," Sands said, seeing Jeffrey almost smile in the mirror.  
  
"Who, Jeffrey? He likes it?" Julian asked.  
  
"Who else would I fucking be talking about? There are only two of us in here, thank God," he tapped his temple. "I definitely do not need a third."  
  
Julian didn't want to think about that so he pulled on his black gloves and turned to Sands. "Shall we go?"  
  
"Yeah, let's fucking get this show on the road," Jeffrey grumbled, not bothering to pull on his top hat, he had refused to wear it, but tying their own heavy cape at his throat, being mindful of the bowtie. Together, he, Sands and Julian walked out of the mansion and out into the waiting limousine that took them to the party.  
  


* * *

  
Jeffrey liked attention, sure, but this was a bit ridiculous. He couldn't even see straight after having so many camera bulbs flashed in his face. And the reporters sticking microphones in his face, asking questions he didn't want to or know how to answer didn't help either. More than a few of them had recognized Sands and decided now was a good time to bring up questions about the deaths of Anthony and Sara Sands. Jeffrey was tempted to tell them all the truth of what had happened, but he figured that would bring more trouble than it was worth so he stayed silent.  
  
Sands and Julian, to their credit, handled the multitude of questions with the deft grace of someone long used to such things, answering or skilfully evading every question the herd of reporters put to them. Jeffrey was glad he didn't have to deal with it. They eventually made their way through the press gauntlet and into the front entrance to the McGovern Estate. Jeffrey tried not to gape as he entered, but it was difficult. If he had thought Julian's house was a maze, this place was absolutely labyrinthine. A well meaning butler led them to the coat room where a lady in a blue peacock feathered mask took their capes with a smile. Jeffrey was tempted to flirt with her; he liked her smile, but figured he'd have time for that sort of thing later.  
  
The three of them were led into an enormous ballroom that made Jeffrey gape even further. Sands noticed and smirked. "You do realize that everything you see here is something we had growing up in the mansion. That is, before I burned it to the ground, anyway," Sands muttered, finally beginning to accept, albeit reluctantly, his involvement in his parent's deaths. He still denied full responsibility for it, but Jeffrey mused that it was a step in the right direction.  
  
"Jeffrey's impressed with McGovern's estate, I take it?" Julian whispered over his shoulder, Sands having made it implicit that no one else was to know about Jeffrey in the limo on the way over.  
  
"Oh fuck you, Manchester. I wasn't impressed. I was figuring out where the best place to start a fire would be," he said with a malicious smirk.  
  
Julian paled. "He's not serious, is he Sands?" he asked softly.  
  
"With him I'm afraid you never know, Julian old buddy. But I wouldn't worry. If he does decide to burn the place to the ground, there's a good chance he might warn you first," Sands said with a thoughtful frown.  
  
"Not fucking likely," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, too quiet for Julian to hear.  
  
If Sands could have glared at his worse half he would have. Instead, he put on a smirk and turned back to Julian. "Fuck, here they come," Sands muttered with a frown, his body tensing. He and Julian had been spotted by a group of richly dressed women gathered around the bar. They hadn't necessarily recognized them through their masks, but that didn't matter. Everyone in attendance would be either filthy rich or incredibly famous; perhaps both.  
  
"Fuck, rich widows," Julian said, frowning in distaste. "I'd rather like to avoid them tonight if at all possible."  
  
"I think it's too late—" Sands was cut off as he felt himself being pulled in the opposite direction of the middle aged women who were fast descending on them like a flock of starved vultures. Jeffrey was pissed off at the abrupt contact, but Sands knew what a service Julian had paid him by helping to avoid those leeches dressed as women and muttered a brief thank you.  
  
"Senator Thompson, what a pleasure to see you this evening," Julian said cheerfully, addressing an older man dress in a Roman toga. "I love the costume," he added.  
  
"I'm having a difficult time recognizing anyone behind these godforsaken masks, who are you?" the senator dressed as a senator asked.  
  
"Julian Manchester, Senator. And this is S.J. Sands," he gestured to Sands, bringing him into the conversation unwillingly.  
  
"S.J Sands, not Sheldon Jeffrey Sands?" the Senator asked with a broad smile that got even wider with Sands nodded reluctantly. "Why I haven't seen you since you were a boy! I was terribly sorry to hear about your parents, son," the Senator said, laying a hand on Sands' shoulder in sympathy.  
  
Sands fought down the urge to both cringe at his touch, and cheerfully inform him that his parent's death had been ten years ago, and that he had been the one to cause it. Jeffrey unsurprisingly agreed with both ideas. "Yes sir, thank you sir," was all Sands said aloud, however.  
  
"They were good people," he said with a nod before looking him up and down. "What exactly are you supposed to be, son?" he asked with a frown.  
  
"A sociopathic, psychopathic, schizophrenic," Jeffrey said with a smile before Sands could stop him.  
  
"Isn't he such a comedian?" Julian asked, grapping Sands' arm again before Jeffrey could make another comment. "It was nice talking to you, Senator," he said before moving on. "Am I going to have to keep an eye on you two all bloody night?" he whispered once they were out of the Senator's hearing range.  
  
"You have no fucking sense of humour," Jeffrey said. "And if you grab us like that one more time, you're going to come back with a few less fingers," he warned with a scowl.  
  
Julian returned Jeffrey's scowl, growing tired of the threats, but didn't respond. "Bloody hell, I need a drink already but the widows are holding their bleeding position at he bar. And if Senator Thompson had been any more unoriginal, he would have dressed as the Phantom of the Opera. Oh wait, that honour goes to our host, it seems," Julian said, pointing out Sir Finlay McGovern as he climbed slowly up the stage to make a speech as the ball was now completely underway.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," Sir McGovern announced in a surprisingly clear voice for a man approaching 80. "As you may have guess, I am your host this evening," he waited until the polite applause had died down before continuing, "I want to welcome you all to tonight's masquerade ball. I'm sure it's going to be a night to remember for all of us. Thank you," he said, motioning to the live band in tuxedos in the bandstand behind him to begin. They opened up with a lively jazz number that had the dance floor moving in seconds.  
  
"Well, as fun as having you as my shadow undeniably is, I don't want to hang around your fucking side all night. People will talk. But," Jeffrey grabbed Julian's arm as his own had been grabbed earlier and pulled him in close enough to kiss. "If you even think about going to the cops or telling anyone about Sands and I, I will personally slit your fucking throat," Jeffrey moved back and smiled broadly. "Have a nice evening. I'll find you again before the night's over," he said, turning on a polished heel and making his way across the dance floor, not giving Julian or Sands for that matter, a chance to comment.  
  


* * *

  
Sands danced with a handful of young rich women, not recognizing any of them, and not caring to. His eyes were drawn however to a woman standing at the edge of the crowd, not dancing with anyone, dressed in a devil's costume that left little to the imagination, and made Jeffrey drool. Her dress was covered in red sparkles that caught every light in the room and seemed to cast a red glow about her body. Her eyes locked with his and Jeffrey smirked to see her breath catch in her throat. She was clearly interested in him. 'What are you waiting for, dumbass? Stop dancing with this society slut and go over and talk to the only woman that seems of any interest in this fucking party!' Sands couldn't help but agree and left the woman he was currently dancing with out on the dance floor, ignoring her furious spluttering.  
  
"Good evening," Sands said to the young devil in front of him, putting on a charming smile. "I'm Sands," he said.  
  
"I know who you are, Mr. Sands," she said slowly before introducing herself. "I'm Sara."  
  
Sands almost frowned at that. How had she known who he was? And what exactly did she mean by that? When he saw that she didn't seem to be afraid of him, quite the opposite in fact, he could see the first hints of desire burning in her brown hazel eyes, he figured she must mean socially rather than from seeing his latest exploits on the news.  
  
"A pleasure," Sands said, sweeping her left hand up to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Can I buy you a drink?"  
  
"Sure. Lead the way," Sara said with a smile, grabbing Jeffrey's red sleeved arm as he proffered it to her. He could be a gentleman when he wanted to be.  
  
The two of them sat at the bar, Sands easily ignoring the cold stares the gathered widows there were sending the woman at his side. To her credit, they didn't seem to bother her either, which made Sands like the young woman even more.  
  
"What can I get you two?" the bartender asked.  
  
"I'll have a double whisky and the lady will have," he trailed off to let Sara answer for herself.  
  
"I'll have a glass of red wine," she said. The bartender handed her a wine list and she chose a moderately priced one which made Sands smile. Not a money-grubber? May wonders never cease. Any one of the woman currently glaring at the two of them would have picked the most expensive item on the list on principle. The fact that Sara did not gained her a lot of points in her favour in both his and Jeffrey's books. Their drinks came quickly, and for a long moment the of them sat in complete silence, merely enjoying one another's company.  
  
"So, how did you know who I was underneath the mask?" Sands asked at last, more than curious to hear her answer.  
  
Sara blushed behind her half devil's mask and Sands felt himself growing inexplicably aroused at the sight. "I'll admit to having a bit of a crush on you when I was younger," she said at last, her face matching the colour of her dress now. "I used to cut your picture out of newspapers and magazines."  
  
Sands and Jeffrey both laughed genuinely at Sara's honesty. "Really? How old are you then?" It was a blunt question, but he felt oddly comfortable asking it of her.  
  
"20," Sara said without hesitation. "So I'm a little younger than you, but that shouldn't matter, should it?" she blushed again. "I'm sorry; I'm not usually so forward. I think it's the wine," she said, gesturing to the glass she held in her hand.  
  
Jeffrey smirked at that, "Then by all means, drink away," he said with a smirk that only served to make Sara blush further. "I love the way you blush like that," he said running a finger down one of her scarlet cheeks.  
  
"I look like a tomato, don't lie," but Sara smiled as he said it, leaning into his touch a little.  
  
"Would you like to go somewhere more......private to continue our conversation?" the way Jeffrey was smirking left no room for interpretation as to what he meant, and he took her hand as she shivered and nodded, apparently not trusting herself to speak.  
  
The three of them made their way out of the ballroom, but not quite outside. They had made it as far as the now vacant coat room before Jeffrey took the initiative, kissing Sara full and deep on the mouth. Sara gasped and he took that as in an invitation to thrust his tongue into her mouth, the wood of their masks knocking together. Jeffrey backed Sara forcefully through the coat room door, their mouths still locked in the passionate embrace, but Sands had the foresight to close and lock the door behind him, while he let Jeffrey reign free for a moment. It was interesting to say the least to witness your body kissing someone else's while not kissing anyone at all. After a short moment, he'd decided he'd had enough of watching and took over.  
  
He eased up on the ferocity of the kiss Jeffrey had started, but none of the intensity and was rewarded as Sara moaned around his tongue. He couldn't stop Jeffrey's smirk at that as he grabbed a few of the more expensive looking fur coats off of their hangers and threw them down on the ground. It was Jeffrey who pushed them both down on top of the expensive bedding, the kiss ending only so Sara could reclaim the breath that had been knocked out of her upon impact. Her body heaving, she reached up a hand to remove her mask before he stopped her.  
  
"No, leave it on. I like only being able to see your eyes. It gives everything a certain sensual mystery, don't you think?" He was rewarded to see another hot flash of desire pass through her eyes and he smiled.  
  
"Please, Sands. Enough talk. We both know what we came here for. Take me before someone comes," she almost begged him, her body arching under his.  
  
"Oh someone will come, alright," Jeffrey smirked and Sara rolled her eyes but smiled at his pun.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at that well before turning Sara slightly to the side so he could reach the zipper of her dress. She gasped as his cold fingers ran along the back of her neck slowly before slowly unzipping her all the way and pulling the dress down off of her so she lay before him clad in nothing but black silk lingerie. It was Sands' own eyes that held the flash of desire now as he took in her lithe form. He leaned over to kiss her collarbone and she took advantage of his close proximity to undo his hair, causing it to cascade down his face and tickle the sensitive flesh of her neck and shoulders as he lightly kissed her.  
  
Her hands reached up to fumble at his bowtie, and he winced as it pulled on the cuts on either side of his neck. She noticed his wince and her hands froze. "Are you ok?" she asked softly.  
  
"Don't worry about me, sugar. I'm more than ok at the moment," he said with a smile, carefully undoing the bowtie for her, leaving the silk ends dangling on her chest as he continued his kissing exploration of her neck and chest. He then brought her hands back up to his chest allowing her to unbutton his tux jacket. She pushed the two-toned jacket off of his shoulders and seemed to take pleasure in running her hand across his silk- clad chest. After a moment of her somewhat timid teasings, she unbuttoned and untucked his red silk shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders to land where his jacket had. He shivered a bit as his bare chest was exposed to the air and smiled when he saw her smile at his reaction. She took in the tattoos lining his arms and looked up at him quizzically.  
  
"The tattoos?" he asked in reference to her look. When she nodded he continued, "I had a rebellious couple of years, what can I say?" he smirked and took the time to move the straps of her lingerie down her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the air, eliciting a shiver in her as she had from him. Without giving her a chance to say anything, he leaned down and took one of her now pebbled nipples in his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. She gasped and arched up to his touch, which only served to encourage him further and he began lightly suckling on it, drawing out a short breathy moan from her slightly parted lips. She unconsciously brought a hand up to his head, running her fingers through his hair and pressing him down harder on her right breast. He smirked around her nipple and Jeffrey brought up his hand to give the opposite due attention as well.  
  
She bucked underneath him for a moment before deciding that she'd had enough of him completely in charge, and moved her hands slowly to the front of his pants, causing him to leave off of her breasts and gasp. "Oo, that wasn't nice surprising us like that sugarbutt. You like to play, do you?" Jeffrey asked with a wicked smirk.  
  
Sara only smiled shyly, trying to will her shy nature away and take full advantage of what was right in front of her. Literally.  
  
"That's alright, we can play too," if Jeffrey caught that he was referring to he and Sands in the plural again he didn't correct himself. With a quick motion he pulled her lingerie off of her now shivering body completely, baring her now naked body, save pair of black four-inch stiletto heels, to the soft furs making up their 'bed' and the slightly chilled air of the coat room. He then sat back and removed his cummerbund and set the six-inch knife underneath it and out of her sight. He then removed his shoes but left his pants on for the time being, smirking a bit as she frowned in disappointment. "Don't worry; there will be plenty of time for games. It will be much more fun to take our time now, believe me."  
  
He and Sands moved back over to Sara's now shivering body, holding her hands down at her sides so she wouldn't be able to 'surprise' him again, and continuing his mission to cover every inch of her body in butterfly- light kisses, everywhere except her breasts, that is. He was dutifully ignoring the two of the places she most wanted him to kiss as punishment for her trick earlier. He hesitated at her neck though, lightly sucking on the sensitive flesh there before Jeffrey increased the ferocity of his kissing, intending to mark her as theirs. He heard her hiss in pain as the tender skin bruised beneath his harshly pressing lips, but paid it no mind. He wouldn't finish until she knew he was his. Once he felt that the marks would remain, he pulled off to look at her.  
  
Her eyes were lidded in desire, but she also looked more than a little upset with him which he found aroused him more than her desire did. "Why did you do that, you jerk? My dress is going to show those and I don't have any concealer to cover them with." Sands stilled any further protestations she might have made with another searing kiss that would have weakened her knees had she still been standing. His hands finally moved to her breasts again and she sighed, her anger forgotten in a haze of desire and lust.  
  
Her hands reached out to fumble at his pants buttons, and he broke off the kiss to lean forward to facilitate her movements. After a short moment her nimble fingers finally relieved his lean hips and thighs of his pants, he then sat back from his kneeling position so she could pull his pants off the rest of the way. She smiled to see his black silk boxers and the obvious bulge they contained. "Do you have a thing for silk or is it just tonight?" she asked as he climbed back top of her, leaving his boxers on for the moment.  
  
"Oh I always have a 'thing' for silk," he drawled. "I simply love the way it feels on my body," with that, he ran his hardened silk-covered length slowly down her stomach and in between her legs, causing her to moan again. "Don't you agree?"  
  
"Yea for silk," Sara said breathlessly when she had regained the ability to make coherent thoughts.  
  
Sands let out a short laugh at that and focussed directly on her eyes through the devil's mask. Before she could guess his intentions, he had removed his silk boxers and had thrust deep inside her, causing them both to groan at the contact.  
  
Sands forced himself to move slow, while Jeffrey fought him to move at a more frenzied and rough pace. The two halves of his being warred in the decision to either hurt her or treat her as gently as crystal. Sands knew that Jeffrey would end up hurting her if didn't keep a tight control of him. He didn't really care all that much, people died; it was the way of the world, but a small part of him didn't want to see her harmed.  
  
Jeffrey however had no such thoughts, and took over at the first chance he got. He didn't have Sands' reservations about not hurting Sara, and his thrust's intensity increased accordingly. Still thrusting within her, he raised himself up and sat back down on the now dishevelled sea of fur, bringing her down on his lap, thrusting himself into her even deeper still. He heard someone moaning, and frowned a second to learn that it was him. He had joined the chorus of moans and gasps without realizing it. Deciding that he didn't care, he gave himself fully to his vocal exclamations, which served to arouse Sara further and she began to move even faster down his now throbbing length.  
  
This frenzied pace served to bring Sara to her climax, and she threw back her head and moaned Sands' name loudly. This pissed Jeffrey off considerably, she should have been shouting his name, not Sands', but he was too far gone to do anything about it now, as the sensation of her inner walls squeezing and pulling at him nearly did him in. He held onto the merest scrap of control for a second longer as he brought his hands to Sara's throat and began to strangle her. Two things happened after that; the first was that Jeffrey came with enough intensity that he had to blink back tears, and the second was that Sara slumped against him, limp, breathless, and clearly dead, vivid bruising from his now aching hands clear around her neck.  
  
Sands was the one to fall backwards, Sara on top of him still, his breath coming in laboured gasps. Jeffrey had given up his control without a word and was humming happily in the back of Sands' skull. Sands' looked down his chest to see Sara's lax face mere inches away, a smile clear on her face. "Dammit Jeffrey, we're in a fucking public place and you have to go and kill the girl we were just screwing."  
  
"Oh stop whining, you big baby. There will be other girls," Jeffrey said, sounding a little buzzed.  
  
"That's not the point," Sands muttered, pushing Sara's limp body up and off of him. She fell back on the now clearly rumpled coats, one of her legs bent under her body at an odd angle, her arms flailed out from her body, the devil's mask being her only covering. "Fuck, we can't leave her like this," Sands muttered, running a hand through his sweaty hair.  
  
"Why not? It'll give the person who finds her a nice show," Jeffrey smirked.  
  
"You really fucking disgust me sometimes, you sick bastard," Sands grumbled before moving to pull Sara's lingerie and dress back on, zipping up the dress and arranging it look as natural as he could.  
  
"There, happy now? All nice and prettied up again. We should probably get dressed though. I'm kind of surprised that no one has interrupted us yet. Although, someone may have tried, we were kind of occupied," Jeffrey said with a smirk. "Well this was fun. Sex and murder, two of my favourite activities; how about you?"  
  
Sands chose not to respond to that, and instead busied himself with getting dressed again, putting the dead woman beside him out of his mind. She was dead, murdered by him, or a part of him at least, but there was nothing more he could do about it now. The part of him that had cared to see her dead and clothed faded as he redressed.  
  
"Do you think my tie is straight?" Sands asked after putting on his cummerbund, reattaching the long knife to it, and retying his bowtie.  
  
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I didn't tie the fucking thing," Jeffrey mumbled.  
  
Sands rolled his eyes and pulled on his two-toned jacket. Without another glance to Sara's body, he unlocked the coat room, looked surreptitiously down the hall in both directions and made his way back to the ball room.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Ok, I know that chapter was incredibly long, but it wasn't my fault, I assure you. Blame Halia and Neon Daises especially for that one. They threatened my life if I didn't keep going. The next chapter will be a further continuation of this one, with Roland, Susannah and Emily crashing the party. It should be interesting. Until then. Please Review!!! 


	11. Continued Masquerade

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I own Jeffrey, Roland, Julian, Susannah, Emily, pretty much every character *but* SJ. Wanna trade?  
  
Cast: Sands/Jeffrey-Johnny Depp Roland Rivers-Julian Sands Emily Brisbane-Nicole Kidman Susannah Cartwright-Ashley Judd Julian Manchester-Jude Law  
  
Author's Note: I'm so glad you guys like this!! Thanks so much!! It's a load of fun to write, I assure you! Thanks to Mss B as always for a wonderful betaing job. And to Halia and Sara who nudged me on every step of the way with their lovely comments. You ladies rock!!  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
Chapter Eleven: Continued Masquerade  
  
"Whose idea was this again? I feel ridiculous," Susannah muttered, trying to pull up the front of her dress so it wouldn't reveal quite as much cleavage. Emily seemed to be having no such problems with her own dress, and almost seemed to be flaunting her chest for the world to see. Susannah strongly suspected that was the case.  
  
"Take a wild guess," Emily said with a cold glance in Roland's direction. He was hassling with one of the party's security guards to get their weapons in to the ballroom. "That man's ego is going to bite him in the ass one day, mark my words. Rivers, Roland Rivers," she imitated his impression when he had first shown them the black tuxedo.  
  
Susannah couldn't hold back a laugh at that before her face turned serious. "Do you really think he's here? Sands, I mean? Do you really think we'll catch him tonight?  
  
"Oh believe me; the sexy psychotic bastard is here. And don't start doubting yourself now. Agents who begin to doubt themselves get themselves killed. And you're much too smart for that. Understand?" Emily asked her directly.  
  
"I understand," Susannah said without hesitation, her determination returning.  
  
"But trust me, a snob like him couldn't keep himself away from this party," she turned to see Roland coming over to them, a smile on his face. "It looks like Rivers was successful."  
  
"Good evening, my two lovely ladies," he addressed the two Agents dressed like Bond women. "I have gifts for you," he said with a smirk.  
  
"Oh whatever can it be, Agent Rivers?" Emily said in a mocking high-pitched voice.  
  
"You have absolutely no sense of humor, you know that, Agent Brisbane? None at all," he said with a sigh, handing her one of the two guns he carried behind his back, his own already in the holster at his waist under his jacket  
  
"That's not true. I have a wonderful sense of humor. You're just not funny," she said with a smile, sticking her gun in the red purse to match her bright red dress.  
  
"And you, Agent Cartwright? Do you think I'm not funny as well?" he asked, handing Susannah her weapon as well.  
  
"Oh no, you're not dragging me into this. I don't think either of you are funny," Susannah said, a smile lighting up her whole face. She stuck her own gun in own dress, tastefully black, but clinging to her body like a second skin which made her more than little uncomfortable.  
  
Emily burst out laughing at that, while Roland just stood and stared at her, a bright grin of his own clear on his face. "Shall we, ladies? The party awaits," he said, holding out his arms on either side of him, Susannah on his right, and Emily on his left. Emily took a moment to catch her breath and grudgingly took Roland's arm, Susannah having already taken his right, and together the three of them walked into the ballroom.  
  
***  
  
Julian hadn't seen hide nor hair of Sands in over an hour, and he was beginning to worry. It wasn't *that* big of a ball room. He couldn't have just disappeared. That meant that he had gone somewhere where he didn't want to be found for awhile, and Julian didn't like the images that notion put into his head. Just what had he released upon these people by bringing Sands to the party? Had someone already lost their lives to his psychotic whims? Julian was startled out of his thoughts with a gasp as a hand was clapped on his shoulder.  
  
"Hello, Julian old chum. We told you we'd find you again," Sands said with a broad grin. In fact, he seemed near bursting with cheerful energy. Something had happened to him to put him in such a good mood, but what?  
  
"What's put you in such a good mood tonight?" Julian asked, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"What can I say? I'm just a happy camper," Sands said with a broad grin.  
  
"No you're not. Jeffrey's the perpetually cheerful one, and you're not cursing enough to be him. So unless you've developed another personality in your head while you've been gone, you're Sands."  
  
"And what makes you think that you know us, you British bastard?" Jeffrey asked, equally as cheerful sounding as Sands was, if not more so.  
  
"Because the changes in you two aren't exactly...subtle, Jeffrey. And you didn't answer my question," he reminded him.  
  
"Technically, you asked Sands the question, not me. Therefore I don't have to answer, Julian buddy," Jeffrey said with a grin.  
  
Julian rolled his eyes at that. "Would one of you just answer the bloody question before I go as completely starkers are you two are?" He was starting to get annoyed. It was irritating how easily Sands and Jeffrey both could push his buttons so effectively.  
  
"Fine, do you really want to know? I mean really, really, really want to know?" Jeffrey asked him with a smirk.  
  
"Yes, bloody get on with it already!" Julian shouted, causing more than one pair of eyes to turn to him.  
  
Jeffrey leant in close over Julian's shoulder to whisper into his ear, but it was Sands who in fact spoke. "There's a dead woman in the coat room. I fucked her, and then I killed her," he whispered before pulling away from him again. "How about I buy you a drink, Julian? You look like you could use one."  
  
"Yes, a drink would be nice," Julian said absently, allowing Sands to lead him by the arm in the direction of the bar. Once there, he sat Julian down on one of the barstools, took a seat next to him, and hailed the bartender over.  
  
"Well look who's back. Did you get lucky with that chick, or what?" the bartender asked, recognizing Sands from before.  
  
"You could say that," Jeffrey said with a smirk. The bartender laughed.  
  
"Good for you man, now what can I get you? Another double?" the bartender asked, having remembered what drink Sands had preferred like all good bartenders do.  
  
"Sure, but make it scotch this time. My friend'll have the same," he said referring to Julian who still looked more than little shocked.  
  
"I don't know about your friend man, I think he's had enough tonight already," the bartender said, misinterpreting Julian's daze as drunkenness.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about him. He's not drunk; he's just a little in shock. I just told him something that he probably didn't want to hear," Sands said with a smirk.  
  
The bartender didn't look as if he believed that, but went to get Sands' and Julian's drinks. Once the bartender had left, Julian turned to Sands. "You psychotic bastard. You couldn't keep from killing someone for one night, could you? I should turn you into the authorities."  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sands whispered coldly, his dark eyes turning almost black in restrained rage.  
  
"Oh sod your threats too. You've been making them all night. I'm bloody tired of it. Just get the hell out of my life," Julian said with a glare, stopping his rant when the bartender returned with their drinks.  
  
"Whoa, it looks as if someone has snapped out of his shock. What's wrong man," the bartender asked Julian after setting the drinks down in front of them.  
  
"You want to know what's wrong, I'll tell you. Try having a, let's see if I can get this right; a psychotic sociopathic schizophrenic as an unwanted house guest? You think you'd bee a little bloody stressed wouldn't you?" Julian said, throwing back the double single-malt scotch back with a quick motion.  
  
"Good scotch is supposed to be savored you know, Julian. Not thrown back like cheap whiskey," Sands said coldly.  
  
"Oh fuck you, Sands," Julian seethed, turning on the barstool to face him, the bartender forgotten like they oftentimes are, "I'm fucking tired of this. I'm tired of your little games. I'm tired of your threats. I'm tired of you fucking killing people!" Julian hissed, not quite shouting, but not quite whispering as he should have been when talking about such things with someone more than willing to end his life here and now either.  
  
"From all of this, one would think that you didn't like me, Julian. That hurts, really," Sands said with a mocking frown. He didn't bother acknowledging the bartender either. He merely put his face to memory as another someone he would have to kill before the night was through. If Julian wasn't careful, he'd lose his temper and he'd make it on that list as well.  
  
Julian seemed to notice he was going a bit too far and used every ounce of his tattered self-control to calm himself down. For Sands wouldn't give a second thought to killing him, even in front of an audience; he had to keep that in mind.  
  
A part of Sands was relieved to see that Julian was calming a down a little because it allowed him to calm down a little. If he had gone even one step further...well Jeffrey had dutifully reminded him of the knife at his waist while he sat there listening to Julian rant.  
  
"Oh come on, you know you want to use it," Jeffrey whispered aloud just loud enough to Julian to hear.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Jeffrey," he said spinning back to the bar, picking up his drink and toasting the somewhat horrified bartender with it before taking a long drink.  
  
"You guys weren't being serious, were you?" the bartender asked shakily, clearly believing that they were but asking anyway.  
  
"What do you think?" Jeffrey asked with a smirk, leaning in over the bar.  
  
"Leave him alone, Jeffrey. Please?" Julian asked him, slumping back against the bar. "He needs to get me another drink."  
  
The frightened bartender practically wrenched the empty glass out of Julian's hand, happy for an excuse to leave, if only for a moment. There was just something about the man in the red and black suit that freaked the hell out of him.  
  
"Aww, what did you have to go and do that for? I was having fun," Jeffrey pouted. "It's not as if we're not going to kill him later, fuckmook. He knows too much about us."  
  
"God, how I wished I could believe you were just joking. Have you any notion, at all, of how completely mad you've gone? I'm not trying to offend you or anything, certainly not, I just want to know," he hastened to add.  
  
Sands hesitated for a long minute, long enough for the bartender to bring Julian a new drink before responding. "I suppose I do, in a vague way. I simply don't care. Or perhaps I've gone too far to be able to care any longer. I don't really know," he admitted at last.  
  
"What's it like? Being schizophrenic, I mean?" Julian couldn't stop himself from asking.  
  
"I threatened your life not two minutes ago and now you want a little insider info?" Sands asked incredulously, not believing his ears.  
  
Julian shrugged. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't really want to know. And you'll threaten my life again."  
  
"He has got a point, I'll have to give him that," Jeffrey acknowledged. "So, you want to know what it's like having such a pathetic loser bugging you constantly like Sands is? I'll tell you; it's pure hell," Jeffrey said with a smirk.  
  
"He wasn't asking you, asshole," Sands said with a glare. "And why should I tell you? So you try and cure me? Is that it, Julian? So you can find out just what it's like in the mind of a...help me out here, Jeffrey."  
  
"A psychotic, sociopathic schizophrenic," Jeffrey supplied cheerfully.  
  
"Thank you. Because I truly am all of those. I no longer have any regard whatsoever for human life. Does that shock you? Does it shock you know that I really did just kill a woman with my own two hands not 10 minutes ago and I can't be made to feel sorry for it? That I can't imagine caring for her life or her death at all? Because I don't. But you didn't ask about the sociopathy or the psychopathy did you? You want to know what it's like to be a schizophrenic, right?"  
  
Julian was beginning to regret ever asking, but it was too late to turn back now. "Yes," he said with finality, hoping that his curiosity wouldn't get him killed.  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat you know," Sands said with a smirk. "Well then, let's see..." Sands said, placing a hand to his chin absently in thought. An idea occurred to him, and he smirked. "This shouldn't be too hard for you, I'm sure. Imagine having a houseguest. An irritable, annoying, unwanted and clearly psychotic houseguest. Get where I'm going with this, kitty?"  
  
Julian nodded, knowing all too well that Sands was referring to himself.  
  
"Well the only thing is, this houseguest lives inside your head. And he can read your thoughts with ease, argues with you constantly, oh and did I forget to mention? He can take over your body any time you're distracted enough to let him. Does that begin to answer your question, you curious bastard?"  
  
'Actually, that's Dissociative Identity Disorder, or Multiple Personality Disorder, you idiot. I thought you had a Master's fucking Degree in Psychology? But I suppose it doesn't fucking matter. Julian's certainly not going to pick up on it,' Jeffrey muttered in Sands' head.  
  
Julian nodded. "Thank you," he said at last.  
  
"Yeah well, fuck you," he said absently staring off into the room. "Well golly, I think I see someone I know."  
  
Julian turned to gaze in Sands' direction. "Really, who?" he asked.  
  
"Guy who just walked in with the two women at his side. CIA Agent by the name of Rivers. He's been trailing me ever since I killed his lover. She was the dead woman I woke up in bed next to with her blood covering my body yesterday morning, savvy?"  
  
"Savvy," Julian said absently, not wanting to think about that. His eyes were focused on the white-blond haired man in the black tuxedo. If only he could talk to him alone. He felt the hairs of his neck sticking up and he turned to the side. Sands was staring at him intensely.  
  
"If you even think about talking to Rivers alone, I won't kill you. No, I'll make you wish you were dead, and make sure you live out the rest of your days in agony. Do you comprehend what I'm telling you, you bastard?" Sands asked, his eyes cold and unflinching.  
  
Julian felt his throat go dry with fear. Not necessarily a fear of Sands' words, although he was bloody frightened, but of the fact that he couldn't tell Sands and Jeffrey apart from one another anymore. The threat sounded like something Jeffrey would say, but it was Sands' cold eyes that were staring back at him, he just knew it. "I understand," he said at last.  
  
"Good. Now let's go on over and talk to them, shall we?" Sands said with a smirk.  
  
"Oh yeah, let's go fuck with them, that'll be fun," Jeffrey agreed, his eyes sparking with mischief.  
  
"Are you two serious? I thought you said he was after you? Aren't you at all worried about what he might do upon seeing you here?" Julian asked with a frown.  
  
"You know what, I'm really not," Sands told him after taking a moment's hesitation to think about it. "How about that?" He smirked and started walking toward the trio of CIA agents.  
  
"Oh God," Julian murmured, but followed after him.  
  
***  
  
Emily and Roland were finally kind of getting along when a man in a black and red tuxedo approached them. "Good evening, Agent Rivers. Fancy meeting you here. Oh, and it's lovely to see you two ladies again as well. I didn't know you and Agent Rivers were associates. Are you CIA as well?"  
  
"Sands," Emily gasped, her hand reaching for the gun she carried in her purse.  
  
"Oh well that's not very nice, Emily, was it? You wouldn't want to shoot me in front of a crowd of people, now would you? Oh, and not to mention, Mr. Manchester here. I don't believe you've met."  
  
The three of them looked to see Julian come up hesitantly at Sands' side. "Good evening everyone. I'm Julian Manchester, at your service."  
  
"If you were really at our service, you wouldn't be helping this bastard," Roland muttered darkly.  
  
"Well that's not very nice, Agent Rivers. You better be careful or you'll hurt our feelings," Sands said with a wicked smirk.  
  
"I really don't give a rat's ass if I hurt yours or Mr. Manchester's feelings. You're a murdering psychopathic bastard and he's helping you," Roland said with a heated glare in Julian's direction.  
  
"Oh I wasn't talking about Julian," Sands said, a broad grin on his face.  
  
"What were you talking about then?" Susannah ventured to ask, being a little more cool-headed than her colleagues.  
  
"Oh, I think we'll let Julian here answer that one. He's the one who's had the most experience 'dealing' with us, as it were. And it was his idea to pick out this costume," he said glancing down at his two-toned tuxedo. "So he might as well tell you why. Go ahead, Julian. They're not going to bite."  
  
"What is he talking about?" Roland asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.  
  
Julian cast a glance at Sands who only smirked, before speaking. "Sands is a schizophrenic," he said at last.  
  
"Bullshit," Roland said immediately. "And if you think I'm going to buy some story about how you were insane when you killed all of those people, you can fucking forget about it."  
  
"Oh I wasn't trying to, I assure you Agent Rivers. I'm fully aware of what I've done and who I've killed. But Julian wasn't lying either. I am a schizophrenic, and I can tell you what, it's a pain in the ass."  
  
"Oh shut the fuck up, you wuss," Jeffrey spoke up. "Hello you fuckers, I'm Jeffrey. Sands' better half. Well, his more psychotic half anyway. And I just wanted to say, that if I get the chance, I'll kill every single one of you," Jeffrey said with a cheerful smirk.  
  
"You're asking me to believe that he's really schizophrenic? Give me a fucking break. How do I know he's not just putting on an act?" The moment Roland asked the question however, he knew that Sands was putting on no act. He really was talking to another person. "Fuck me," he whispered.  
  
"You really are schizophrenic?" Susannah asked him with a curious expression on her face.  
  
"You betcha, sugarbutt. I remember you. It's shame I wasn't the one who got to kiss your hand. Although, I suppose if I had been there I would have done a hell of a lot more than that," Jeffrey said with a lecherous grin.  
  
Roland let out a little growl at that. "I still don't believe it. You're just putting on an act," he said, not really believing his own words.  
  
"Oh come on, Roland old buddy. You don't really believe that, do you? As if anyone could think that me and that pathetic bastard Sands were the same person," Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Oh, and I thought I should mention, it was me who killed your lover, not Sands. And I must say she was a great piece of ass, even dead; especially dead, in fact. You should have seen her when I was through with her," Jeffrey said with a wicked smirk. Roland lunged at him and had to be forcibly restrained by Emily and Susannah. "Although, Sands didn't really like the look of her either. He prefers to simply kill people, not like me. You two have no appreciation for great art," Jeffrey said with a deep sigh.  
  
"You call that fucking art? You mutilated her, you psychotic bastard," Sands muttered before smirking to the trio of CIA agents in front of him. "Although you probably don't want to hear about any of this at all. How about I buy the three of you a drink? We might as well enjoy ourselves if we're going to have a little chat. So, shall we?" he asked, holding out his right hand in invitation toward the bar while Jeffrey gave Roland the finger with his left.  
  
Roland noticed the gesture but held his temper. If Sands was willing to talk to them, then they couldn't give up that chance."Fine, but you and Manchester are going first," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.  
  
"Of course, Agent Rivers," Julian said amicably, turning to walk back to the bar.  
  
"I don't fucking like this, Sands," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes fixed on Roland and his fellow agents.  
  
"Oh come on. Who's the wuss now? Where's your sense of adventure? And you don't really believe that they've caught us, do you? We came to them, remember? Not the other way around," Sands said with a final smirk in the CIA agents' direction before following Julian back to the bar.  
  
"Fascinating," Emily couldn't help but say as she watched Sands watch away. The look she gave him was intense, but not in a sexual way. Her interest in him had changed from lust to scientific interest in the blink of an eye. "I've never had the opportunity to interview a schizophrenic before," she said absently.  
  
"I don't care how interesting this bastard may seem now, or how charming he may act around you. He's the psychopath who murdered Yvette, Mrs. Sprout, that old woman in the restaurant, the bartender, Ryan Merced, and God know's how many other people by now. Keep that in mind," Roland cautioned with a stern look.  
  
"Don't tell me how to fucking do my job, Rivers," Emily said with a glare before making her own way over to the bar.  
  
Roland just sighed and watched her go. He really hadn't been trying to push Emily's buttons that time, as much fun as it would have been. He had been genuinely concerned that her fascination might lead to distraction that could get her killed.  
  
"We're all a just a little edgy right now, Roland. And having the guy were chasing show up right in front our faces with a smile and an invitation for drinks certainly isn't helping matters. Now let's go show this guy that it was a big mistake to ever mess with the CIA," Susannah said with a confident smirk.  
  
Roland grinned wide at that, and together the two of them made their way over to the bar.  
  
***  
  
"So, did you know Yvette long? Before I killed her, that is?" Jeffrey asked with a smirk, waving the now timid bartender over.  
  
Emily's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to play games with you, Sands. Get that straight right now," she said coldly.  
  
"Well, technically you weren't talking to Sands just then, but since you're new at this, I'll let it slide. And of course you're going to play games with me. What do you think you and your fellow agents are doing right now by having a drink with me and Sands?" he asked with a smirk. "Isn't that right, Julian?" he turned to ask. "That's right," he said before Julian had a chance to answer for himself.  
  
The bartender came forward as Roland and Susannah joined them at the bar, clearly nervous in Sands' presence. "What can I get for you?" he said with a bit of a stutter in his voice.  
  
"Well, I'd like another scotch double, but you'll have to ask the other people sitting next to me what they'd like. Oh, and all of their drinks are on me," Sands said with a smile.  
  
"I'll have the same," Julian said with a sigh.  
  
"I'll have a martini," Emily said.  
  
"I'll have a single shot of scotch," Susannah requested not looking at Sands or Julian.  
  
"Oh, woman after our own heart," Sands muttered with a smirk after hearing Susannah's order.  
  
"I'll have a double bourbon on the rocks," Roland asked for at last. The bartender nodded and quickly scurried off to get their orders.  
  
"Shall the six of us move to a table? It will be easier to have our conversation there. I'm sure the bartender can bring our drinks over," Sands said, getting up to move to a vacant table before anyone could say otherwise.  
  
"Did he just say six?" Emily asked with a frown, mentally counting in her head. It then occurred to her that Sands had counted himself twice. How interesting.  
  
They all moved to sit at the round six-person table Sands had chosen, and Emily couldn't help but wonder if he had chosen it because of the six settings, or simply that a four-person table wouldn't fit them all comfortably as they had five people. She purposely left the seat between her and Sands, the seat on his left empty. She wasn't stupid enough to sit that close to a psychotic, especially when their conversation might upset him. She wasn't an idiot, no matter what Rivers thought. "What is it like being schizophrenic, and when did it first develop?" Emily couldn't help herself from asking once every one was seated, Susannah on her right, Roland next to her, and Mr. Manchester, who looked even more sexy in person, in between Roland and Sands.  
  
Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Fuck, first Julian here and now you. What is it with you people that you want to know what it's like? Wouldn't you like to ask me something else? Like where I put you're dead friend's corpse?" Jeffrey asked with a smirk.  
  
"You better fucking tell us, you bastard," Roland seethed from across the table.  
  
"Or what?" Jeffrey asked with a smirk. "You'll arrest me and either send me into prison for the rest of my life or just have me executed by the state? That is if we don't wind up in a fucking mental institution," Jeffrey said with a barely restrained shudder. "You're already planning to do all of that. So there's absolutely nothing you can say or do to me to frighten me, Roland, dear chum. So you might as well save your fucking breath."  
  
"Please tell us, Sands. You wouldn't have brought it up if you weren't already planning on telling anyway, would you?" Susannah rationed.  
  
For a second, Sands' eyes went cold, and Susannah held her breath. But then he smiled brightly as if the previous look had never existed. "I like you. You've got balls, I'll give you that," Jeffrey said with a smirk. "In fact, I like Emily too. However did you end up with such a pathetic fucking loser as Rivers here?" Jeffrey asked, intentionally trying to bait Roland into reacting. To his annoyance, Roland just sat there as still as stone, with even a little smirk of his own crossing his face. "You're no fun. And you have absolutely no fucking sense of humour, you know that?" Jeffrey asked with a slight pout as if he were a child whose best playmate decided he didn't want to play any longer.  
  
The location of the body...Jeffrey, was it?" Susannah asked before a thought occurred to her. "Jeffrey Sands, so that's why you put down that name at the train station. It was you who boarded the train."  
  
"That's right, sugarbutt. It was my idea to come here in the first place," Jeffrey said with a grin.  
  
"But I digress, you want to know where the location of your friend is, correct?" Sands asked. "Fine, she's lying in a bathtub in a seedy motel in downtown DC. I won't tell you which one unless you behave yourself. Now where is that fucking bartender with our drinks?" he asked, looking up at the bar where the bartender was nowhere to be seen.  
  
The bartender appeared as if he had been waiting for Sands to say that very line with a tray of their drinks which he set in front of each of them. "If there's anything else," he started, praying that Sands wouldn't ask anything else of him. He just wanted to get the hell away from him.  
  
"Not right now, but I'm sure I'll see you later," Sand said with a smirk and a wink, handing the frightened bartender a couple of bills; more than enough to pay for the drinks a few times over.  
  
"You really don't care at all that you've killed all of those people do you?" Emily asked, watching Sands cheerfully interact with the bartender. "You feel no remorse at all."  
  
"Why should I?" Sands asked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "People live, people die. What should it matter whether or not I'm the one to cause that death?" Sands asked with a genuine frown.  
  
Julian, Roland and Susannah just shook their heads in disgust at that, but Emily looked intrigued. "You really don't care at all," she said, amazed. "A true psychopath."  
  
"Is that supposed to be a compliment, sugar?" Jeffrey asked with a leer. "Because I'd be more than willing to allow you to *examine* me further," he said grinning.  
  
As cool and calculated as Emily was trying to be, her body didn't care about any of that, and betrayed her as she felt a rush of blood go to her cheeks. She was very glad she hadn't sat next to him now, or she might be tempted to do something that would be entirely improper with a complete stranger, let alone a total psychopath. "As much as the offer might appeal to me, Mr. Sands, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," she said breathily, her conscience both congratulating her for making the right decision and cursing her as an idiot.  
  
Jeffrey shrugged. "Your loss, sugar butt," he said with a grin. So is there anything else you'd like to talk about why I'm still here?"  
  
"Did you really kill your parents like everyone thought you did?" Roland asked. Jeffrey went still and Roland felt a bit of a victorious feeling surge through him. 'So, I struck a nerve with that one,' he thought to himself, filing the information away in his memory. "You didn't answer my question, you psychotic bastard," he reminded him.  
  
"Fuck you, Rivers," Jeffrey said with a heated glare. "As for whether or not Sands killed his parents, yeah so what if he did?" Jeffrey admitted at last, not really caring if they knew. Sands felt differently, but he ignored him and went on. "He burnt them alive, did you know that? He tied the both of them up on their bed, drenched them in gasoline, and threw the match on their bodies. He then stood outside of their bedroom listening to them scream. Did you know that? That's why he had to be rescued from the house. He wanted to hear them both. He stood outside of their bedroom door listening to their screams until he passed out from smoke inhalation and had to be rescued by one of the firefighters. He doesn't really remember it though, so it's useless to ask him about it, but I do. I remember everything."  
  
"Fuck," Roland whispered, the implications of what he had just heard setting in. Sands had murdered his parents; at 17. And he didn't just murder them, he had let them die slowly in one of the most horrible ways known to man. If this story got out, a jury would have no trouble buying an insanity plea that Roland wouldn't stand for. He wanted to see the bastard dead, not living it up in some cushy asylum somewhere.  
  
"Don't ask questions you're not ready to know the answers to, Agent Rivers," Jeffrey said coldly before standing up. "Well, this has been a delightful evening, but I think it's about time Julian and I make our way home. What do you say, Julian?"  
  
"If you think we're just going to let you walk out of here, you really are insane," Roland seethed, rising to his feet as well.  
  
"Oh we are, and we are," Jeffrey paused, laughed a bit at how that sounded, and turned to Julian who had risen to his feet as well. "Let's get the hell out of here, Julian. This party's no fun anymore."  
  
Julian and Sands turned to walk out of the ballroom, heading to the coat room to get their hats and cloaks, before Sands felt Roland's hand on his arm. "You're not getting away this time you fucking psychotic bastard."  
  
Before Roland had time to react, he found a six-inch blade pressed up against his neck. "And what makes you think you can stop us?" Sands hissed. "And don't think I won't kill you. You may be getting better at the game, but I've still got time to bring new players in," Jeffrey said with a smirk.  
  
"You kill me, and they'll kill you," Roland said, referring to Emily and Susannah who stood behind him.  
  
Sands didn't even bother looking at them. "You know what, I don't think they will. You would, maybe. But I think they'd be too worried that they'd harm innocent people by firing their guns in a crowded public place. Not to mention, we seem to be drawing a bit of a crowd," Jeffrey said with a smirk. He could hear the gasps of party goers around them, and he knew it would only be a matter of a few seconds before they had drawn the entire party. Gossip would spread like wildfire in this group, and every one of them would want to see just what was going on between the two men at the bar. Roland seemed to have realized that and looked over his shoulder with a frown.  
  
Before either of them had time to act, however, a loud blood-curdling scream cut through the crowd and Sands took advantage of the distraction and slit Roland's throat before running off and disappearing into the crowd of frenzied party goers.  
  
Emily and Susannah immediately ran to his side as they saw him slump to the ground. There was a long straight cut across his neck, and it was slowly gushing blood onto the collar of his suit. "Oh God, Roland!" Susannah said upon seeing him. Emily just gasped.  
  
"That bastard could have killed me," he said, holding a hand up to his bleeding neck. The cut had actually been just shallow enough not to kill him, but it still bled enough to colour his pristine white tux shirt a dark red. "Why didn't he kill me? We better get the fuck after him!" he said, rising to his feet.  
  
"Look around Rivers, he's already fucking gone. And so is Manchester," Emily said, pulling a handkerchief out of her purse and handing it to him. "Here, clean yourself up. I'm glad you're ok," she admitted before walking off in the direction the screams had come from.  
  
"We'd better get after her," Susannah said before taking the handkerchief out of Roland's hand and wiping at his neck. "Are you sure you're ok?" she asked softly, before taking his hand in hers and placing it against the handkerchief. They held eye contact for a long moment before he nodded. "Then let's go find out what the hell just happened."  
  
***  
  
They left the ballroom to find Emily arguing with a security guard outside of the coat room. They came up her side and Susannah asked, "What's going on here?"  
  
"This little prick won't let me inside. He says there's been a murder, but won't let me through," Emily said with a glare in the security guard's direction.  
  
"A murder? Fuck, I'll give you one guess who probably did it," Roland muttered, still pressing the cloth to his bloodied throat.  
  
Emily just pursed her lips and nodded. "And this fucker won't believe that I'm CIA and let me in."  
  
Roland rolled his eyes at that and pulled his badge out from his tux coat with one hand. "Roland Rivers, CIA. These are my associates Agent Cartwright and Agent Brisbane. If you don't let us into that room right now I'll have you arrested for interfering in an officer's investigation. Now move aside," he said, pushing himself forward and into the coat room. What he saw in front of him made him pause. There was a woman lying on a bed of crumpled fur coats, clearly dead, and clearly having been re-dressed in her long red dress. No matter how natural a killer tried to make someone they had re-dressed after death look, it wasn't natural enough. A good forensic scientist could always tell.  
  
He knelt over her body and looked closely down at her neck. "She's been strangled, and judging by the look on her face, she was happy when it happened," Roland said with a frown before looking at two women for answers.  
  
"She's got the look of someone who's just been fucked, and fucked good," Emily said bluntly, causing Roland to wince.  
  
"Thank you for that...colorful explanation, Agent Brisbane," Roland said before turning back to the body.  
  
"No problem," she said absently, leaning over the body next to him after pulling on a pair of latex gloves she had pulled from her purse. She moved the woman's hair back to look at her neck. "It looks as if she was strangled with someone's bare hands. Do you see the places where the fingers pressed into the skin of her neck?" She placed her own hand carefully over the hand prints, measuring. "Someone with definitely bigger hands than me. No doubt a man. If it was Sands who did this, and none of us doubt that it was. Violent psychopaths are known to climax at the point their victim dies, so once we get a forensic team in here, we should have her checked for-"  
  
Emily was cut off as a heavily panting young man in a lion's mask came to the door of the coat room and said, "You guys are like cops, right? Well there's been another murder," he said frantically.  
  
Emily cursed as she was interrupted, but Roland spoke up. "Where?"  
  
"Just outside the front door. I think the guy had his throat cut! There's so much blood!" the man moaned.  
  
"Alright, we're coming. Emily, you stay here. Call in the forensic team. Susannah and I will be outside looking over the second body," he turned to the lion-faced young man. "You, are going to stay with her, do you understand?" he asked coldly. "If anything happens to her, I'm going to hold you personally responsible. Got it?" The young man nodded and Roland and Emily made their way out of the mansion and outside to the body.  
  
"I should have grabbed my coat, but I didn't want to disturb the crime scene," Susannah said, rubbing her shoulders against the October cold.  
  
Roland took of his jacket and handed it to her. "Here," he said softly, making his way down to the circle of people that were no doubt surrounding the dead body.  
  
Susannah said thank you to Roland's back as he walked down the front steps to the body before pulling on the jacket and following him. "It looks like the young man was right," she said upon seeing the body. The man lay on the ground, his throat slit in a clean cut angling downward from the left, indicative that the killer had been right-handed. She took a closer look at the man's face and frowned. "Isn't that-"  
  
"Yeah, our bartender from tonight. Sands said he'd be seeing him later this evening," he banged a hand against the ground angrily. "Fuck!" he shouted, causing the group of gathered around them to gasp.  
  
"Don't worry, Roland. We'll catch him. We have to. This has got to end," Susannah said with a frown towards the dead body.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Well, that was fun!! :-D And dear me, I'm not quite sure how long this got, but I'm pretty sure it was a long one. I hope you liked it!! Next chapter, what happens to Sands, Jeffrey and Julian after fleeing. It should be fun! 


	12. Behind the Masks

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I own Jeffrey, Roland, Julian, Susannah, Emily, pretty much every character *but* SJ. Wanna trade?  
  
Cast: Sands/Jeffrey-Johnny Depp Roland Rivers-Julian Sands, freaky coincidental hybrid name! Emily Brisbane-Nicole Kidman Susannah Cartwright-Ashley Judd Julian Manchester-Jude Law  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to my few remaining reviewers. You know who you are, and you guys rock!!!  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, another smut scene ;-) , and violent graphic imagery.  
  
Chapter Twelve: Behind the Masks  
  
"Good riddance," Sands muttered, thinking of bartender he had just killed as he fled the scene. Using a knife probably hadn't been such a good idea however, his suit now had a nice arterial spray of blood across the front, but the man had had to die.  
  
"Why didn't you fucking let me kill Rivers? We had him in our grasp, you fucking moron! Now he's just going to come after us twice as fierce as he was before. You aware of that, right?" Jeffrey asked with a scowl. Sometime between nearly slitting Rivers' throat and going all the way to Broadway with the bartender, he had realized the Jeffrey no longer spoke inside his head. He spoke only out loud now, using Sands' own voice as his own.  
  
"I know he'll come after us. I don't know why I didn't fucking kill him, alright? I choked. Are you happy now, you bastard? When it came down to it, I couldn't kill him. And I don't know why. I had no trouble killing that fucking bartender back there and he was much less of a threat than Rivers and his girls are."  
  
"If you fucking know all of this, why didn't you kill the bastard?!" Jeffrey screamed at him. "You may be fucking blasé about life, but I'm not. I don't plan to let that bastard get near me again unless it's to kill him. Going over to him and chatting him and the other two up like old friends had been a bad idea."  
  
Sands rolled his eyes at that. "Oh I'm so sorry that everything didn't work out the way you wanted it to, but its way too fucking late for regrets now. We went over to them, had a rather interesting conversation, and managed to come away clean. What the fuck are you complaining about you whining bastard?"  
  
"Oh fuck you," Jeffrey said with another scowl. "Now shut up. There's a car coming."  
  
"Why should I shut up? Why don't you shut up? This is my body!" Sands seethed.  
  
"Yeah, and I'm taking it over. Now shut up. I'm going to go over and see if I can get us a ride," Jeffrey said, making his way over to the approaching car. He finally managed to flag down the car about a mile away from the McGovern Estate. It was then Sands realized that he was freezing. He had been forced to leave his warm cape in the coatroom with Sara's body, and now he was paying the price. His teeth began to chatter as Jeffrey moved to talk to the person in the car.  
  
"Uh hello. I take it you're coming from some kind of Halloween party, right? You're not kind of psychotic are you? Because if you are, I'm disinclined to give you a ride. But then again, you look like you're freezing, so I'll take pity on you. Just be warned, I have mace and a knife, and I'm not afraid to use them," the woman in the car assured him with a narrow eyed look.  
  
"Thank you," Sands said through chattering teeth, going around to the passenger's side and getting into the blessedly warm car.  
  
"One thing though, you have to take off the mask. It goes rather nicely with your suit, but I want to be able to see your face," the woman ordered.  
  
Jeffrey smirked at that. 'I bet she likes to be on top,' he thought to himself, but did as she asked. Truth be told, he was fucking glad to be out of the thing himself. "Do I meet your approval..." he trailed off, inviting her to supply her name in the silence.  
  
"Halia," she supplied after giving him a rather thorough look-over that stirred Jeffrey's arousal even though she had not meant for the look to be taken that way. She was simply sizing him up, judging him as safe or not. He put on the most naturally innocent look he could manage, about a few steps above devilish, but he must have seemed honest enough, for she spoke again. "And you are?"  
  
"Jeffrey Sands," he answered with a smile.  
  
"Can you prove that?" she asked warily.  
  
Jeffrey had to catch himself from rolling his eyes at that. "Sure, give me a second, I'll get my wallet." He lifted up off of the seat so he could pull out Sands' wallet, being extremely careful not to flash the knife at her. He most definitely didn't want a faceful of mace. 'I bet she's one of those feminist types,' Jeffrey thought to himself with a smirk that he made sure she couldn't see. 'I enjoy a good challenge.'  
  
She took the driver's license he handed to her and looked over it with a critical eye. "It says here your name is Sheldon J Sands," she said slowly. "Not Jeffrey."  
  
"If you're first name was Sheldon, you wouldn't want to use it either, trust me. My middle name is Jeffrey," Jeffrey said with a small smile, taking in her features. She really was quite pretty, worth the challenge he would have to face if he wanted to fuck her.  
  
She seemed to accept this and handed him back his license. "Where are you coming from, why aren't you wearing a coat, and where are you headed?" she asked in rapid succession.  
  
"I just came from the party at the McGovern Estate, I'm not wearing a coat because I had to get the hell out of there in hurry, and as for where I'm headed; I have absolutely no idea. I just wanted to get out of the cold. Thank you for stopping," Sands said with a smile.  
  
"You're welcome," she said with an absent wave of her hand. "So, you must be some kind of Richie Rich to have attended the McGovern party. Why did you need to get out of there in such a hurry?"  
  
Jeffrey leaned in as if sharing the most secret of confidences. "They found a murdered girl in the coat room."  
  
Halia gasped a bit at first, and then her countenance filled with anger. "Do they know who did it?" she asked at last.  
  
"I have no clue. I admit I high-tailed it out of there at the first scream. Although I assuredly wasn't the only one, I feel like a bit of a coward now as I think back on it," Jeffrey said, managing a bashful smile. He could feel that Sands was at least somewhat impressed with his acting abilities.  
  
Halia gave him a searching look before speaking, "You did the right thing, don't feel guilty about it. There's nothing you could have done. You're certainly not in law enforcement, so you couldn't have helped anyone by getting in the way. You did the right thing by leaving," she assured him. "Now, where can I take you?"  
  
Jeffrey tried to put on a distressed look. "I don't know, to tell you the truth. I just came here from DC for the party, and I had planned to stay with a friend of mine. I'm afraid we got separated in the confusion."  
  
"What is your friend's name?" she asked, and Jeffrey could tell by the tone of her voice that his acting job was working. She no longer seemed suspicious, she now only seemed curious. And he could use curiosity to his advantage.  
  
"Julian Bateman," he purposely didn't give Julian's last name because he knew that she would recognize it. "I admit that I don't even know where he lives here in town. He and I went to school together and I haven't seen him in a few years. It's only when he found out that I was attending the party yesterday, I'm not even sure how he did, that he called me up and offered to let me stay with him. I guess you think I'm pretty stupid for making plans to stay with someone I haven't seen in years, right?"  
  
"No, I don't think you're stupid," she hesitated for a moment and then looked him over closely once more before speaking. "I have a guestroom in my house. I could let you stay there for the night, or at least until you contact your friend. It's not far from here. But if you try anything, I will call the police and have you arrested before you can blink. Do you understand?"  
  
"Savvy," Jeffrey said with a smile.  
  
"What did you say?" Halia asked with a frown.  
  
"I mean, I understand," Jeffrey explained.  
  
Halia just nodded and turned to look at the road again, before putting the car into gear and heading to her home.  
  
***  
  
"Well, this is it," Halia said with a wave of her hand as they entered her two-story, 3-bedroom, middle-income class home. "Not what you're use to if you were invited to the McGovern party, I'm sure, but if you'd rather stay in a hotel I can direct you to the phone so you can call yourself a cab."  
  
"No," Jeffrey said quickly. "Your home is lovely. Thank you for giving me a place to stay. A lot of people wouldn't have done so much for a total stranger."  
  
"Oh, you're not a total stranger. I saw your driver's license remember? Sheldon?" she said with a smile to let him know that she was joking.  
  
Jeffrey forced an amused laugh while inside he was seething. He did not like being made fun of any more than Sands did. "Yeah, what a name, huh?" he said with a small smile.  
  
"I'm sorry; I shouldn't make fun of you. That was rude. We don't choose our names."  
  
For a moment, all Jeffrey could do was stand there and blink. Had she actually apologized? "Uh, thank you," Jeffrey managed to mumble.  
  
"You're welcome," she said with a smile, walking into the main area of the house. "Would you like a drink? I haven't got much, but I could make you a cup of coffee if you're still cold."  
  
"Thank you, coffee would be fine," Jeffrey muttered, still feeling a little unbalanced.  
  
"Let me guess, you like it black right? A tough guy," Halia called from the kitchen as Jeffrey took a seat on an ivory colored leather couch in her living room.  
  
Jeffrey smirked at that, his balance regained. "Black's fine. Mr. Tough Guy. That's me," he joked. He the reached up and fumbled at the noose at his neck, trying to get the blasted thing untied.  
  
Halia returned a few minutes later, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand and laughed softly to see him struggling. She set the cups down on the coffee table; a coaster under each, and turned to him. "Would you like some help with that?"  
  
"Fuck yes," Jeffrey muttered, looking up to as if she were her last lifeline in a raging storm. "Sorry for the curse, but I've been wearing this stupid thing all night and now I just want it off," he said, gesturing to the now mangled bow tie at his throat.  
  
She laughed then, and Jeffrey was fascinated by the sound. He tried not to gasp as her gentle hands found the injured sides of his neck from his and Sands' little...argument, but it was difficult. She jerked her hands back, her brown eyes wide. "Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No, I hurt myself. You just found where I did it with your hands, that's all. But please, don't stop. This thing's driving me insane."  
  
Halia laughed again and untied the bowtie at his throat in a matter of seconds. "There, all better," she said, her hands not moving from the now dangling ends of his tie. He looked down at them with a smile, and she drew her hands back quickly with a bit of a startled squeak. "I'm sorry," she said, her face going red, quickly taking a sip to occupy her slightly trembling fingers.  
  
"Why should you be sorry? I'm not. When a beautiful woman places her hands on my chest, I consider myself lucky," he said with a charming smile that only served to deepen Halia's blush. "You're beautiful when you blush," he said before looking as if he had just realized something. "It's my turn to be sorry. I had no right to say that. I don't even know if you're seeing anyone or not. You're not, are you?" Jeffrey asked, looking hopeful, taking a sip of his own coffee, his eyes locked with hers over the rim of the mug before setting it down on the coffee table.  
  
"No, I'm not. But I don't even know you," Halia said, but Jeffrey could tell that she was close to being his.  
  
"Well then. What would you like to know?" he asked with a smile, knowing he had to play this just right. She was jumpy, but he had seen her desire, while still muted, flash in her eyes when she had untied that damn tie. "I'm not seeing anyone either, by the way."  
  
For a minute, Halia just sat there, not knowing what to say. "What are you supposed to be? Your costume I mean? Some kind of representation of the duality of man or something like that?"  
  
"Yeah, something like that," Jeffrey said with a smirk. "I'm a schizophrenic actually," he said with a smile that implied he was joking even though he was being dead serious.  
  
"I like it. Very clever," Halia said with a smile.  
  
"Yeah Julian certainly seemed to think so, that bastard," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, too low for Halia to hear. "Thank you," he said out loud, moving closer to her on the couch. "Tell me something, Halia. Would I still get a faceful of mace if I said I wanted to kiss you?"  
  
"That depends," Halia said a bit breathlessly.  
  
"On?" Jeffrey asked, leaning even closer to her, close enough to feel her warm breath on his face.  
  
"On how good of a kisser you are," she whispered, her tongue darting to wet her dry lips.  
  
That was all the invitation Jeffrey needed, and he closed the gap between them, locking his mouth to hers, putting every ounce of passion he had in the kiss. If he was going to get in her bed, he'd have to make the kiss memorable. His mind, or maybe it had been Sands, cheered in victory as Halia moaned, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, deepening the passion of the kiss even further. Their tongues did battle for a few long minutes, before he pulled back, slightly breathless. "Did that live up to your standards?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure. I think I might have to try again." It was Halia who took the incentive this time, pressing him against the back of the couch with the force of her kiss. It was also Jeffrey's turn to moan in a mixture of shock and arousal that she was so forward. He raised a hand a cupped one of her breasts through her shirt before he could stop himself. She gasped and pulled away from him to look him dead in the eye.  
  
"I'm not going to get maced, am I?" he asked with a small frown, not bothering to remove his hand from her chest. If he was going to get a faceful of mace, he was going to make sure it had been worth it.  
  
For a long moment Halia didn't answer him, only looked at him as if seeing into his soul, her brown eyes filled with an interesting mixture of surprise, curiosity, and strong heated desire. "No," she said at last, gently placing a hand over his on her chest. "I'm not going to mace you. I just have one question."  
  
"What's that?" Jeffrey asked, unbelievably curious to know what was going though her head.  
  
"I want you to be honest with me. If I sleep with you tonight, will you still be here in the morning?" she asked, looking at him even more intensely than before.  
  
Jeffrey balked at the question and Sands took over in his confusion. "You have my word. I will still be here tomorrow morning," he assured her with a calm smile.  
  
"And will I wake up next to you?" she pressed.  
  
That one was a bit trickier. "Yes, you will wake up next to me," he said. 'That is, if Jeffrey doesn't kill you first,' he though to himself.  
  
"Then come with me," she said, rising to her feet and holding out a hand.  
  
Neither Jeffrey nor Sands had to be told twice when presented with an invitation like that, so they grasped Halia's hand gently and together they made their way to her bedroom.  
  
***  
  
The room was done up in a variety of scarlet and pale yellow shades, and it appealed to Jeffrey. Well, the scarlet certainly did anyway. "I like the room," he murmured, taking in the little knick-knacks that made the room hers. He stopped to smell the white roses, literally, that were in a vase on a small table against a wall, cursing himself for being a romantic idiot. He then laughed quietly to see an old record player on the same table, with what looked like an Elvis album cued up.  
  
"Don't make fun or I'll kick you out. I mean it," Halia warned, her voice half joking, half serious.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it," Jeffrey assured her, but smirked. She laughed at that, completely unoffended. "You have a beautiful laugh. And God, could I be any more pathetic right now? I sound like a sap."  
  
"I think it's kind of cute," Halia said, moving over lean against him, her face turned upwards to his, her hands on his chest.  
  
"You're not helping," Jeffrey said, leaning down to capture her mouth in another searing kiss, possibly even more passionate than the last. Their tongues warred as they walked over to the bed, the back of Jeffrey's legs hitting the edge and causing him to fall on top of it with Halia on top of him. They both dissolved into laughter at that, around their still- connected lips. When they finally broke apart, Jeffrey looked up at her with a curious expression on his face.  
  
"What?" Halia asked with a frown. "What's wrong?"  
  
"You drugged my coffee, didn't you? I haven't laughed like that in...well, ever. So that seems to be the only explanation. Come on, tell me. What did you slip me? A little Mickey Cohen in my drink? You can tell me, I won't turn you into the authorities, I promise," Jeffrey said with a smile to show that he was joking, but in the truth he was actually beginning to consider it 'What the fuck's wrong with me?' he thought to himself.  
  
Halia laughed and blushed prettily and Jeffrey had to refrain from once more commenting on how beautiful she looked. He would have to do something about this soon or get the fuck out of here. His moods were seriously unbalanced lately, and he didn't fucking like it. He was saved from having to make a decision as Halia once more captured his lips in a passionate kiss, her body a pleasant weight on his chest. 'For being so seemingly wary of men she certainly is a brazen little minx,' he thought to himself, giving his senses fully to the kiss. He deepened their intimacy even more by reaching up his hands to push her up off of him enough so that he could unbutton her shirt and unhook her bra without breaking the kiss. She returned the favor by unbuttoning his own shirt and untucking it from cummerbund and pants. Her hands paused as she encountered the knife and he cursed himself silently for having forgotten about it. That a fucking sloppy move on his part.  
  
"What's this?" she asked, pulling the knife sheath from his waist before he could stop her. She gasped at the size of it.  
  
"It's just a bit of protection, sugarbutt. You can hold on to it if it'll make you feel better." She seemed to consider this before leaning over to put the knife under the bed and straddling him, pulling him into a sitting position on the bed. "Although, I'm beginning to think that I may be the one in need of protection here, you little minx," Jeffrey said with a wink, allowing her to divest him of his tux jacket, cummerbund, and shirt. She then pushed him back on the bed and Jeffrey took a moment to marvel at how quickly she had leveled the playing field between the two of them. She removed her own shirt and bra, and they were on even ground, both wearing nothing but pants, socks, shoes, and matching looks of heated desire.  
  
Jeffrey gasped as he crawled over to him like a hungry lioness and moved her hands over his bare chest, moving slowly and with teasing movements down to his waist where her hands hovered over his pants buttons and the very seat of his arousal. Before he could look to see if she was going to go through with undressing him completely, she moved down to his feet to untie Sands' highly polished black shoes, something he had forgotten about. Once when they were both on the floor, his socks with them, did she move back to his waist where she deftly undid the buttons and slid the zipper down. Before he could go any further he had rolled her over on her back and was taking off her own shoes and socks and undoing the buttons to his jeans. He had been pretty submissive so far, but it just wasn't in his nature to do so. Sands' either for that matter.  
  
With a growl he rolled Halia over so that he was on top of her. Once he had managed this, he attacked her mouth thoroughly, kissing her as if there were no tomorrow; which was true. For her, at least. "I wasn't done," she pouted when he finally let her up for air.  
  
"Neither was I," she said with a smirk before rolling him back over. She then reached down once more to unbutton and remove his pants, and this time he didn't stop her. He instead aided her movements with a gentle rising of his hips so she could pull his pants out from underneath him. He could remain still; be a good boy, for a little while. If she was so intent on taking the lead he wasn't going to stop her. For now.  
  
"Having fun?" he asked, noticing she was staring at his now only silk boxer- clad form.  
  
"I'll be having more fun once I get you out of those—" her voice cut off as he grabbed her roaming hands hard enough to hurt.  
  
"Not so fast, my little minx. I do not like being told what to do. Keep that in mind and the evening will go a hell of a lot more smoothly," Jeffrey warned, his eyes going slightly cold.  
  
"You're hurting me," Halia said softly, trying to pull her wrists away.  
  
"I promise to let you go if you do what I tell you," Jeffrey said slowly, not exactly letting up in his fierce grip of her wrists, but not holding quite as firmly as before.  
  
Halia narrowed her eyes at him, but had the courage to ask, "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"I want you to finish undressing yourself for me. Basically, I want you naked, and soon. And then I'll allow you to finish what you started, savvy?" Jeffrey asked, his tone brooking no argument.  
  
Halia nodded and Jeffrey released her wrists. She rubbed at them for a moment before standing up off the bed and unbuttoning her blue jeans, letting them sink to the floor. "There, are you happy? We're on even ground now," she pointed out, gesturing to his silk black boxers and her own satin and lace panties.  
  
Jeffrey barely had the time to grudgingly nod before Halia leapt on top of him again, her mouth locked with his, her entire body rubbing at his furiously, creating a delicious friction between the two of them that almost made him gasp. "I never thought I'd find a woman with such a...voracious sexual appetite as my own," he said when she had finally released him. "Are you ready?"  
  
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes glazed with need. Jeffrey didn't have to be told twice. He quickly pulled his boxers down just enough to free himself, and hooked a finger around the edge of her panties and did the same, thrusting into her with a grunt. He then rolled her over again on to her back and his thrusts became more forceful, with her moaning and writhing beneath him, her eyes fluttering. He noticed that their legs were tangled together in a mixture of limbs and underwear, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about now was the activity he was currently engaged in, and what the fuck he was going to do with her in the morning.  
  
*** Halia lay in Jeffrey's arms, the both of them completely sated and almost utterly exhausted from their play. Halia rolled her head over in a slow movement on Jeffrey's chest to look at the clock on her bedside table. It read 1:52 AM. "Well, time sure does fly when you're having fun," she commented, not moving her head to look at him. Jeffrey glanced over at the clock as well and she could feel him nod. "Do you intend on keeping your promise?" Halia asked quietly.  
  
For a second, Jeffrey found he didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about. 'What promise?' he asked himself, and Sands, for that matter. "Yes, I'll keep it," Sands answered before Jeffrey had the chance. "Now go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." Halia only nodded slowly, and Sands waited until he was completely sure she was asleep before speaking out loud, "This is nice, and I know you fucking enjoyed yourself, but you're going to kill her in the morning anyway, aren't you?" he asked Jeffrey quietly.  
  
"Why? Do you really care whether or not I do? Tell me the truth. Do you really care whether or not I, or you for that matter, kill her tomorrow morning?" Jeffrey asked.  
  
Sands thought about it for a long moment, and found that he didn't. "No, I don't. She was fun in bed, but that's all. She's served a purpose, and now I have no other use for her."  
  
"And there's the sociopath I know and hate," Jeffrey said with an almost fond tone to his voice. "Now get some fucking sleep. I'll wake you up tomorrow before she does."  
  
"Fine, goodnight you irritating psychotic bastard," Sands muttered, closing his eyes.  
  
"Goodnight you annoying sociopathic asshole," Jeffrey responded, and they both fell into a deep, even sleep.  
  
***  
  
Jeffrey opened his eyes some 7 hours later, taking a moment to remember where he was. He felt a curious weight on his chest and looked down to see a brunette head lying there, and the entire night came back in a flash; beautiful, willing Sara, who had died at his hands, seeing Rivers fall to the ground with a slit throat even though he didn't die, killing that fucking nosy bartender, and now Halia. Seemingly innocent naïve and yet voracious Halia, who would also die at his hands this morning.  
  
He took care not to wake her as he gently lifted her head off of his chest and laid it in the place he had recently vacated as he slipped out of bed with a long stretch. He squinted in the sunlight that passed through the blinds into the room before walking around the bed, attempting to locate his underwear. They had been discarded sometime in the middle of the night in a haze of passion, and he had no idea where they had gotten to. He bent over and began looking under the bed. He did find his pants, shirt, jacket, and most importantly, his knife, but not his underwear. Or his cummerbund and tie either, for that matter. "Fuck, where could they have fucking gotten to. He cast his eyes around the room, trying to think outside the box. His eyes trailed upwards and noticed a black scrap of silk hanging from one of the blades of the ceiling fan and smirked, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. He reached up and pulled them off of it, shaking them out slightly in case they were a bit dusty before pulling them on. He then pulled on his pants before looking at his shit in distaste. He didn't want to wear it fucking again, and he certainly wasn't going to wear the fucking noose, but he'd wear the jacket at least. Now, if only he could find a decent shirt. He smirked and wandered over to Halia's dresser decided 'what the hell. I'm going to kill her anyway,' and began searching the drawers for a suitable shirt.  
  
He hit gold in the first drawer he tried, and in more ways than one. After pulling out a large plain black cotton shirt, he had found something rather...interesting for a woman to be hiding in her underwear and t-shirt drawer. He pulled out a heavy .45 handgun and looked at it as if it was about to turn and shoot him. "Holy fuck, can she even fire this thing? It's a fucking hand cannon!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down to a loud whisper, not wanting her to wake up. He cocked it open and saw that it was fully loaded too, with a bullet in the chamber. He was about to put it back where he had found it and continue getting dressed when Halia's still sleepy voice assaulted his ears.  
  
"Jeffrey? What are you doing?" Before he even thought to answer her question, he had already turned and fired a bullet into her chest, her blood spilling out onto the sheets, vibrant and red. "Why?" she whispered, her face screwed up in pain, a trickle of blood running out the edge of her mouth.  
  
"Because it's the way I am," Jeffrey said without feeling, pulling the trigger until the gun was empty, and Halia's body was now a bloodied ruin beneath him. Jeffrey dropped the spent gun to the bed in distaste and started to hear someone clapping. He frowned when he saw that it was him, or rather Sands.  
  
"Nice work. Very cold-hearted. Now finished getting dressed so we can see if there's anything in the kitchen to have for breakfast," Sands muttered absently.  
  
Jeffrey just stood there staring, Halia's now glassy eyes staring back up at him, the "Why?" she had asked him still echoing through his ears. After a moment he shrugged and continued getting dressed, putting the dead woman on the bed out of his mind and going about his morning as usual.  
  
***  
  
Julian nearly cheered when his butler announced that the CIA had come to visit his home. He hadn't bothered hiding like Sands apparently had after the party, he had seen neither hide nor hair of his unwanted houseguest since last night when they had become separated, and he wasn't the least bit sorrowful. "Send them in," he called out, taking a seat behind the desk in his study. The butler nodded and left, two women and a man entering a moment later. He looked at the man in shock, "Agent Rivers I must say I'm-" he was cut off abruptly by Roland.  
  
"Surprised to see me still alive, Mr. Manchester? Well, you're not the only one," Roland said, putting a hand gently to the while shallow, nasty looking cut across his throat. "I don't know why Sands didn't kill me, but it will be the biggest mistake he's made so far. Because I don't intend to give up. And I will find him. That's why I came here, as it were," he said, taking a seat at one of the chairs in the room, leaving Susannah to take the other, and Emily left to drag another chair over from the back wall. Julian rose to help her, but she just waved a hand as to say, 'I'm used to this. Roland's a bastard, can't you tell?'  
  
Once Emily was finally seated, Julian reclaimed his own chair and spoke gently, "I think I understand why you came here, Agents. You want some insight into that bloody psychotic bastard, Sands, am I correct?"  
  
"You're damn right I do. Starting with why you didn't turn him into the local police at least when he showed up at your doorstep. You must have known he's wanted in connection with at least 3 murders in DC."  
  
"He confessed to four," Julian said slowly.  
  
"He told you about them? What did he say?" Emily asked.  
  
"Did he say where he put Yvette's body?" Roland asked, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair, his knuckles turning white.  
  
"He said he woke up in bed next to her, and that she was dead. He didn't give many more details than that. As for where he put her?" Julian paused to remember Sands' exact words. "He said, and I quote, "It's dissolved into nothingness along with a transvestite I killed in a bathtub in a particularly seedy motel room in the middle of downtown DC." He didn't say which motel, and I didn't ask. He then admitted to killing someone named Sprout and a guy he didn't know on the street. Wait, I think he said he was some kind of bartender."  
  
"What the fuck's he got against bartenders?" Emily mused aloud to herself.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean," Julian said with a frown.  
  
"We found the body of the bartender from the party last night in front of the McGovern estate. His throat had been cut," Susannah said with a solemn look. "We also found the body of one Sara Jenkins in the coat room, also murdered last night."  
  
"Oh God, he told me about her too. At the party. He said that he had "fucked her and then killed her." Pardon the language," he said with a nod toward the two female agents. Susannah nodded back demurely while Emily just waved a hand absently. "He truly is insane, Agent Rivers. What he told you all last night wasn't a lie. He's bloody schizophrenic. I've seen him argue with 'himself,' I even saw him draw a knife on his own neck for God's sake when he got in an argument with Jeffrey. That's what his other personality is called. Bloody psychotic Jeffrey."  
  
"So what, I'm supposed to let this bastard spend the rest of his fucking life in a cozy little institution somewhere because he's a little fucking nutty? There is no way in hell that I'm going to see that happen. He's going to burn for the people he killed, and I don't mean that theologically."  
  
"Listen, I haven't seen him since the party last night and I can honestly say that I don't miss him in the least. He threatened my life more than once while he was here, and hearing him go on about killing people and argue with...Jeffrey was a tad...unsettling."  
  
"What did he and...Jeffrey fight about?" Emily asked, leaning forward a bit to hear Julian's answer.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure, to tell you the truth. But they did fight a lot. In fact, Sands seemed to fight with Jeffrey over killing people. He claimed that it was Jeffrey's fault; that Jeffrey did it, not him."  
  
"What else did he say?" Emily pressed.  
  
"Oh who cares? So he's a fucking whackjob. We knew that already. None of that matters. What matters is finding him before he kills someone else," Roland said with a glare in Emily and Julian's direction.  
  
"He probably already has. If he's as psychotic as we all seem to believe he is, save Agent Rivers, then he won't ever stop. I think it would be a good idea if we got some protective custody placed on you, Mr. Manchester. There's a good chance that Sands will be coming for you next," Susannah warned with a direct look in his direction.  
  
"I'll take my chances, thank you. I won't run and hide, especially not from the likes of him," Julian asserted with a glower.  
  
"You will call us if the bastard shows up again, won't you Mr. Manchester?" Roland asked, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"Oh yes, of course. I'm not as foolish as you might believe, Agent Rivers. If I see Sands again, which I most sincerely doubt, I shall inform you immediately," he assured them with a nod. "Now, if there's nothing else," he said, rising from his seat, "I have a bit of work to do. My man will show you out." Roland, Susannah and Emily all got up from their seats and began walking through the door, each one of them recognizing a dismissal when they heard one. They wouldn't be getting anything more out of him. "If there's any further way I can assist you or your investigation, do give me a call." He handed Roland one of his business cards. "I bid you the best of luck in catching him. And do be careful."  
  
"Oh you can count on that. We'll catch him, there's no doubt about that," Roland said with finality, before the group of them turned on their heels and left Julian to his thoughts.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Sorry that this took so long to post!! I wrote a new story with the OUATIM author Neon Dasies (Psnoo17) called More Than Darkness. You can find it on www. adultfanfiction.net under the name of S_and_M. Enjoy!! 


	13. Falling Together and Falling Apart

Darkness Rising  
  
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie  
  
Disclaimer: I own Jeffrey, Roland, Julian, Susannah, Emily, pretty much every character *but* SJ. Wanna trade? Please? I'll give you a cookie?  
  
Author's Note: Whoa, this should have been updated a lot sooner than this. You have my deepest, deepest apologies.  
  
Rating: R for naughty language, and a smut scene that I hadn't intended to write until it was already written. Original characters can be tricksy like that.  
  
Chapter Thirteen: Falling Together and Falling Apart  
  
"So what, you're just going to fucking sit there and eat breakfast like nothing's happened?" Jeffrey asked with a scowl. "That fucking bastard Rivers and his women are still after us and you just sit here like you fucking want to get caught. Well I don't want to get caught you sociopathic bastard," Jeffrey seethed.  
  
"What are you worrying about? You don't really think Rivers is smart enough to catch us, do you? He's just a dumb cop, that's all. Him and those two trained bitches of his. It doesn't matter if he's in the CIA either. All of them are the same. They're all just dumb fucking cops who think that they will somehow be able to outsmart the bad guy. Well that's not going to fucking happen. So yes, I'm just going to sit here eating my breakfast, trying to ignore you."  
  
"Oh fuck you, Sands. Like you could fucking ignore me. If you haven't noticed, you're paying more attention to me now than you ever have before. We're fucking having a conversation out loud for fuck's sake. And you even started listening to me when I tell you to do something. Not to mention the fact that you've started using my dialogue and mannerisms. What do you think of that, you pathetic bastard?"  
  
"What can I do to make you just go away? I'm fucking tired of you. You're driving me fucking insane!" Sands yelled, slamming his hand on the table, causing his coffee cup to shake.  
  
"News for you, you moron, you're already fucking insane. You're talking to someone who doesn't exist, and you've killed oh, over half a dozen people and yet you feel no remorse. You're sitting in the kitchen of a girl you and I just fucked and then killed eating breakfast while her body is cooling upstairs. If that doesn't make you as nutty as a fucking fruitcake, I don't know what does."  
  
Sands threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, I'm fucking insane. Are you happy now, you bastard? Will you leave me the fuck alone for awhile now?"  
  
"I don't think you're comprehending what I'm fucking telling you, you witless bastard. I can't go away. I have no where to go. I'm inside your head, remember fuckmook? It's not like I can fucking pack my bags and take a vacation, no matter how much I might want one. I'm stuck with you, and I hate every minute of it. Well, except for the killing, that is. I rather enjoy that, actually," Jeffrey said with a somewhat weary smirk.  
  
Sands just pressed his hands to the sides of his head in an attempt to block out the voice that was within. He didn't know if he could take much more of this. Just when he was about to seriously consider slitting his wrists with a fucking kitchen knife, the phone rang. "Fuck," he whispered.  
  
"Don't answer it, fuckmoook," Jeffrey cautioned with a sneer.  
  
"I wasn't 'going' to answer it, asshole," Sands responded in kind, allowing the phone to ring. When the ringing finally stopped, a small hysterical part of him feared just for a second that Halia had gotten up from her place on the bed and answered it. "Don't start thinking like that."  
  
"Were you talking to me or to yourself, you fucking whacko?" Jeffrey asked snidely.  
  
Sands was just about to tell his worse half where he could shove his comments when the phone rang again. "That's fucking it," he said, rising from his place at Halia's kitchen table and striding over to the place where the cordless phone hung on the wall. With a vicious motion, he yanked the cord out of the wall, silencing the phone immediately.  
  
"Well good for you, you killed the big bad phone. Do you feel better now, you fucking moron?" Jeffrey asked with cheerful spite.  
  
"I'll feel even better when one of us is gone. And you know what? I don't even care which one of us it is anymore. That's how fucking desperate I am to be rid of you," Sands said, his hands clenching into fists as he regained his seat at the kitchen table.  
  
"Well with an attitude like that, you're never going to---" Jeffrey was cut off by the ringing of the phone. The ringing of the 'unplugged' phone. "What the fuck?"  
  
"Maybe it's got a backup somehow," Sands said, sounding a bit freaked out, not really believing this explanation whatsoever. No, the phone was ringing clearly, in his head. He wondered who would be on the other end of the line if he picked it up. Another personality like Jeffrey?  
  
"Oh great, now you've got fucking auditory hallucinations to go along with the antisocial personality and associative identity disorders. You are seriously fucked up. Do you even realize that?"  
  
Sands didn't exactly know how to answer that one, so he simply slumped back in the chair, trying not to listen as the phantom phone kept ringing, and Jeffrey kept berating him.  
  
***  
  
"I don't fucking believe this!" Roland shouted at the top of his lungs. "It's been two goddamn days since that party and you're telling me that we've still got nothing on Sands? That he seems to have fucking disappeared off the face of the planet?"  
  
"He can't hide forever, Roland. We'll find him," Susannah assured him in a soft voice, attempting to calm him down.  
  
"That's not good enough, anymore. Half of the DC and Baltimore police forces are out looking for him and yet no one's turned up fucking anything. He nearly slit my fucking throat for God's sake and killed two people in public and yet, he got away!"  
  
"Calm down Rivers, you're going to give yourself a stroke," Emily said with a sigh. "On the other hand, go ahead, flip out. Put yourself into an early grave for all I care," she said nastily. Tensions were running high for all of them, and tempers were becoming increasingly short.  
  
"Oh fuck you, Cartwright. What the hell is your problem? You've been riding my ass since the day we started working together on this thing! Get over it! It was years ago!"  
  
"Oh you self-centered bastard. How dare you bring that up," Emily said coldly. "Not everything is about you. But fine, yes I am pissed off at you for what happened all those years ago-I hold a grudge a long time as you may remember-but that has nothing do with my attitude toward you now. The truth is, I don't like you, Roland," Emily said, surprising him by calling him by his first name, "I don't like your methods and I think your fucking recklessness is going to get someone killed someday and I don't intend for it to be me."  
  
"Oh what about you, Emily? You would spread your legs for Sands in a heartbeat; even knowing what he was, if he asked you to and you fucking know it, you fucking slut," Roland seethed, too pissed off to think about the consequences such a blunt insult would bring about.  
  
"Even a psychotic bastard who would probably kill me as soon as we were finished would be a better fuck than you were, you son of a bitch." With that, Emily pulled her right hand back and punched Roland in the jaw hard, throwing off his balance and sending him to the floor. She then turned on a sharp heel and left the hotel room, slamming the door behind her.  
  
"Fuck, that little bitch," Roland muttered to himself, holding his aching jaw in a hand. Then, he remembered exactly what he had just said and closed his eyes tightly in a wince. "I'm an asshole," he muttered softly, speaking to himself. "I shouldn't have said that."  
  
"No you shouldn't have," Susannah spoke up, reminded him of her presence abruptly for the first time since he and Emily had started arguing. "You're a fool, Roland. We should be working together to catch Sands, but instead we're attempting to tear each other apart. And the only purpose that serves is to allow more time for Sands to be free and killing people. So I suggest that if you don't want that to happen, you go and find Emily right now and make right whatever animosity's between the two of you. Because frankly, we don't have time for this shit right now," Susannah said with somewhat surprising forcefulness. "Go," she said, her tone brooking no argument as she pointed to the door.  
  
"I'm going," Roland muttered, rising to his feet and heading out the door after Emily.  
  
***  
  
It didn't take long to find Emily if one knew where to look, and Roland knew where to look. She was sitting in a deck chair at the side of the indoor pool of the hotel staring down at the still water. Roland glanced around briefly and reconfirmed that they were completely alone.  
  
"If you've come to argue with me some more, I don't want to fucking hear it. You deserved that," Emily said, not looking up at him as he went around and locked the doors from the inside; somewhat surprised that he could do so, but wanting privacy as they talked, so not questioning it.  
  
"I know I fucking deserved it. I'm an asshole, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" Roland said, walking over to her slowly.  
  
"Well if you agree, what the hell are you doing here, Rivers? I don't want to talk to you. I just want to be left alone," Emily said sternly, turning to face him for the first time, her arms crossed over her chest as she stretched out on the long deck chair. Roland could see that she had been crying and he cursed himself.  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," Roland said, taking a seat in the deck chair next to her.  
  
"You don't expect me to believe you, do you?" Emily asked, raising her eyebrow in sarcasm. When Roland didn't say anything, she went on, "Fine. Whatever. Then why did you say it?" she asked slowly, turning away again, not wanting to see the tears thinking about his comments brought. She wasn't a simpering little moron; she was an agent for the CIA. She could take care of herself. 'Well then why do his comments hurt so fucking much?' she asked herself. "Why do you fucking hate me?" as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she would have given anything to have taken them back.  
  
"First of all, I don't hate you," Roland said, looking down at his feet with uncharacteristic reserve. "I've never hated you. Even when I left you all those years ago I didn't hate you. I don't think I ever will. I may fucking argue with you at the drop of a hat, but I argue with everyone. I'm sure you know that better than anyone. You know me better than anyone. You always have," Roland muttered to himself, clearly not really happy with the fact. "And secondly, I don't know why I said what I did. I certainly didn't fucking mean it," he said slowly. "You just pissed me off and I reacted. Now granted, I reacted badly, but there's nothing I can do now but apologize. And in all fucking fairness, you evened us up pretty well by punching me. I think I'm still seeing stars."  
  
Emily couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping her at that as she wiped at her tears out of his sight. "It's no more than you deserve," she said slowly, but the malice that had been in her voice earlier was gone. "And I didn't hit you 'that' hard, you big wuss," she joked softly. "So stop your complaining. I could have just shot you," she said with a completely serious face, although her eyes were twinkling with mischief.  
  
"Would you have really shot me?" Roland asked, tuning to face her so that his knees hung over the side of the long deck chair.  
  
Emily pretended to think about it for a moment, but eventually admitted in a soft voice, "No, I wouldn't. You may be an asshole sometimes, but I wouldn't shoot you. I couldn't shoot you. Stabbing you, on the other hand..." She smiled at the joke.  
  
"Well that's a comforting thought to know," Roland said sarcastically.  
  
"Oh shut up, you know what I mean," Emily said, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't hurt—" her words were cut off by the pressing of Roland's lips to her in a passionate kiss. At first, Emily was confused. When she felt herself respond to Roland's kiss she was still confused, but that no longer mattered. All thoughts of whether this was right or wrong-it was definitely wrong-were thrown out the window with whatever inhibitions she may have once had.  
  
Roland's thoughts were somewhat similar to Emily's. He didn't know why he had kissed her; it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Moving his hands to cup her breasts under her shirt wasn't necessarily a good idea either, but that didn't stop his hands from doing it. And when Emily moaned under his once familiar touch, he was only spurred on further. He knew her. He knew her skin, her smell, what made her hot, he remembered it all as if it were yesterday that they had had their moment together and not those handful of years ago when they were both incredibly more naïve and stupid than they were now. Well, incredibly more naïve and stupid than they had been, at any rate.  
  
His thumbs found her nipples and he tormented them relentlessly as Emily's hands found his waist and undid his belt with light speed. She was in hurry it seemed. But Roland certainly didn't complain when one of her fast hands slipped into his pants and began stroking his already hardened length enough to make him moan in pure pleasure. 'Thank God she's wearing a skirt or else I don't think I'd be able to make it,' he thought to himself as his hands moved down to lift her skirt up and yank down her black lace underwear, silently thanking her for her choice of knee-high stockings as well.  
  
He didn't ask her if she was ready. He didn't give either of them an opportunity to take a good look at what they were doing and reconsider. Hell, he didn't even ask if she was on birth control. He shared a brief look with her, and thrust into her with one movement, causing the deck chair they were both on now to teeter dangerously. There were no thoughts, only sex. It was pure; it was primal; it was definitely a bad idea.  
  
The whole situation was a little ridiculous actually. They were both still almost fully dressed-Roland still had his tie knotted securely around his neck-but neither of them cared. They were in a public place and could be interrupted at any second, but again, neither cared. The only thing either of them cared about at this moment in time was themselves. They were rutting like animals, and on some level they both knew it. There was no thought in their act, only action, reaction, and a hell of a lot of unbridled passion.  
  
When they came, it was simultaneous and completely unexpected. Emily moaned as her inner muscles contracted around Roland's length as he filled her. It was only then-after they had both come back to themselves-that they realized exactly what they had just done. "Oh fuck," Roland groaned, looking down at her wide-eyed face mere centimeters beneath him, their bodies still intimately joined.  
  
"I think that's a pretty accurate statement, yes," Emily muttered, not moving from under Roland but frowning at the way the slats of the deck chair were digging into her back as he pressed her down into them. "I don't think these chairs are made for...that," she said softly, not wanting to come out and say what they had just done. It was a rather stupid self-denial actually, since she could feel just how closely they were still joined, but saying what they had just done out loud somehow made it even more real than the actual physical evidence did. "Get off of me."  
  
"I'm getting," Roland muttered, pulling himself out of her slowly and standing up at the side of the deckchair, looking down at it, and her, as if they weren't really there. "Fuck me, we really just did what I think we did, didn't we?" he asked softly, still not fully comprehending, even as he zipped up his pants.  
  
"There's those incredible deductive powers coming out to play. Bravo, Rivers," she said coldly, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her skirt, a stormy scowl fixed upon her face.  
  
"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me, Brisbane. I didn't hear you fucking complaining," he said with a scowl, his previously somewhat blissed but utterly confused mood changing into anger with her biting words.  
  
What was Emily supposed to say to that? He was fucking right. She could have stopped him but she hadn't. "And what about you? Did you get jealous about my little comment about fucking psychotics rather than you and decide to prove a point? Is that fucking it?" She asked coldly, sitting up straight in the debauched deckchair.  
  
"You're a real fucking cun-" Roland didn't have time to finish the insult as Emily rushed to her feet and backhanded him across the mouth hard.  
  
"If you 'ever' fucking call me that again you pathetic bastard, I 'will' kill you," she promised between clenched teeth.  
  
"Lots of love to you too baby," he seethed, smiling with bloodied teeth from where she had split his lip open with one of the rings she wore on her fingers. He spit a wad of that blood down onto the cement beside her feet and turned on a polished heel and stalked out of the pool room without another word, practically wrenching the previously locked door off its hinges in his furious haste.  
  
Emily just watched him go, her own anger annoyingly beginning to cool. 'Oh God, what have I done?' she asked herself in despair, sinking back down to the battered deckchair.  
  
***  
  
"What's in your head, you crazy bastard?" Jeffrey asked Sands with a frown, not liking how the other man was acting.  
  
"You're in there, why don't you tell me?" Sands responded with a bit of a manic laugh.  
  
"Calm the fuck down, Sands. I don't like the way you're fucking acting," Jeffrey muttered warily. He could feel something in Sands shifting and he didn't like it. He didn't like not knowing what was going on.  
  
"Why Jeffrey, you almost sound frightened of me. Whatever could be the fucking matter? I thought you were the tough son of a bitch who was going to come out on top when the two of us finally decided to go at it?" Sands drawled slowly.  
  
"Yeah, well excuse fucking me if I start to worry when you're fucking acting like you're about to go around the fucking bend at any second," Jeffrey said with a scowl.  
  
"I already am around that bend, Jeffrey my dear friend," Sands said cheerfully. "Let's go up and check on Halia. I bet she's lonely," he said, standing up from the table and moving across the room to go upstairs.  
  
"Sure..." Jeffrey said slowly, not knowing how else to respond. If Sands truly 'was' losing it, he was fucked.  
  
"Glad you agree. And while we're up there, we can grab that big fucking gun of hers. I'm sure she must have more bullets somewhere," Sands said slowly, ascending the staircase.  
  
"Good idea. It never hurts to be able to defend yourself," Jeffrey agreed without hesitation; both because he actually did feel that way, and that he felt if he disagreed with Sands right now he wouldn't like the result.  
  
Nothing had changed in the bedroom, not that Jeffrey really expected that it would have. Halia was still lying on the bed-a ruined mess-her eyes staring blankly over to where he had been standing when he shot her.  
  
"She was a pretty little thing before we got a hold of her, wasn't she? They all were," Sands mused as he noticed Jeffrey staring at her. He walked over to the side of the bed and moved a lock of hair that had been sticking on Halia's cheek to the side as Jeffrey watched, slightly horrified. "Thanks sugarbutt, it was fun," he said with a smirk before raising the hand he had used to move her hair up to her mouth and licking the transferred blood off of his fingertips.  
  
"You're a sick bastard, you realize that?" Jeffrey said slowly.  
  
"That's an instance of the pot calling the kettle black if I ever heard one," Sands responded with a roll of his eyes as he cleaned off his fingertips. "Now where the fuck did that gun get to?" He moved away from the side of the blood-covered bed and began scanning the carpet for the used .45. "Aha, there you are," he practically cooed, picking up the weapon and sniffing the barrel delicately. "You know, I think I've always liked the smell of gunpowder and smoke. Did you know that?" he asked offhandedly.  
  
"Yes, I knew that," Jeffrey said slowly. He liked the smell too, and would have admitted as much, but Sands was fucking freaking him out a little.  
  
"Now if I were bullets, where the hell would I be," Sands asked himself aloud, humming under his breath softly as he searched. "Broadway baby," he exclaimed, upon finding a box of .45 shells tucked away in a corner of the same dresser drawer he had found the gun in. "That's improper gun safety, sugarbutt," he scolded the dead woman on the bed. "Aren't you always supposed to store the gun and the bullets in different locations or some such bullshit like that?"  
  
Jeffrey didn't answer because it was clear Sands was no longer talking to him. He just watched as Sands took a seat on the edge of the bloodied bed and began loading the gun, continuing to hum to himself softly as he did so. Jeffrey recognized the song, it was 'I Shot the Sheriff,' by Eric Clapton. It didn't bode well for Jeffrey's current frame of mind. Sure, he didn't really care if Sands killed people-he'd even enjoy it-but a fucking psychotic rampage was never a good idea, and he feared that was where Sands was heading. "Just listen to me, Sands. Don't do anything stupid, alright?" he practically pleaded with his other half.  
  
"Oh like what, go on a homicidal rampage, killing people left and right until I run out of bullets or until someone stops me? Is that kind of what you meant, Jeffrey?" Sands asked innocently. Jeffrey didn't buy it for a second.  
  
"Yes, like that. Just...calm down. Get some fucking rest or something. You're not in your right mind," Jeffrey said with a frown, irritated that he was having to be the rational one all of a sudden.  
  
"Right 'minds', Jeffrey," Sands corrected him. "If I can't fucking get rid of you, I might as well accept you, right? Well I tell you what. I'm not ready to fucking ever accept you! I fucking want you out of my head, and I will do so even if have to fucking blow my own brains out just to do so!" he put the now fully loaded gun against his temple. "I honestly don't care anymore, you fucking bastard. You've stolen my life away from me, and if I can't fucking get it back, I'd rather be dead."  
  
"You're a fucking pussy if you think that's going to scare me, you pathetic bastard. You wouldn't dar—" Jeffrey was cut off as Sands shot a hole into the ceiling, the sound of the loud gunshot echoing throughout the room.  
  
"Fucking try me," he said emotionlessly, holding the still smoking gun in hand but not moving it back to his temple.  
  
"You've really fucking lost it, haven't you? You're not just fucking kidding around. You're really gone," Jeffrey asked incredulously, not quite believing it.  
  
Sands frowned in distaste at the question, but answered anyway, "If you consider not giving a fuck about anyone or anything anymore and willing to do whatever it takes just to get rid of you, 'losing it,' then yes I suppose you're right. Also, I'm in the mood to kill a few dozen people right now, so I guess that's pretty far around the bend too," Sands said, rising from the bed and locating his two-toned tux jacket where he had thrown it the other night and forgot about it, slipping it on. He put the box of .45 shells in one of the pockets of his red and black pants after replacing the bullet he had fired into the ceiling. "I'm going outside to play," he said with a manic grin and left the room humming to himself again; gun in hand and in more than mood for violence.  
  
TBC  
  
A/N: Yup. I'm evil. I make you wait all that time, and I leave you at a cliffhanger. *wicked grin* I am sorry for making you wait so long, but not about the cliffhanger. And don't worry! I'm on summer break in a little more than a week, so I'll have oodles of time to write! In the mean time, feel free to review, it might just make me write faster, and read my co- authored OUATIM story, More than Darkness on www .adultfanfiction.net It's getting...long.  
  
To my reviewers from last chapter, Psnoo, Skye29 and BlueTrinity, THANK YOU!!! You guys keep me writing, you really do.  
  
-Merrie 


	14. As the World Falls Down, Part I

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Only Jeffrey, Roland, Emily, Susannah and all the corpses are technically mine, but I've always owned SJ in my dreams. Does that count?

Author's Note: This is it folks. The first part of the climatic chapter. It's been a long road getting here, and I'm certain it'll be a long way home.

Rating: R for extreme violence and naughty words.

Chapter Fourteen: As the World Falls Down, Part I

Roland stalked through the hallways back to his room, cursing when he bumped into Susannah, his door in sight. "I don't have time to talk to you, Agent Cartwright. Let me pass."

Susannah raised an eyebrow at Roland's use of her rank rather than her name, but didn't let it deter her. "Not a chance, Agent Rivers. Not until you tell me what happened between you and Emily. She's my friend and a good agent. I won't have you fucking up our chances of catching Sands simply because you two can't seem to get along," Susannah said, pulling herself up to her full height. She didn't even come close to matching Roland's superior height, but she was determined not to let it affect her. She wanted answers, and one way or another, she'd get them. She also noticed what seemed to be a fresh bruise on Roland's face, which made finding out what had happened between the two of them that much more important. She couldn't afford to sit around while they took chunks out of each other any longer. "Well?" she pressed.

"We got along too fucking well," Roland muttered under his breath before looking up at Susannah's glowering face. "I don't respond well to intimidation, Agent Cartwright. If you want to know what happened between Agent Brisbane and me, I suggest you ask her. Because you'll get nothing out of me."

"You stubborn, conceited bastard," Susannah said slowly.

"Be that as it may, I'm still not telling you anything. Good day, Agent Cartwright. Call me when you've got something relevant to say." With that, he pushed past her and entered his hotel room, slamming the door behind him.

WWW

Susannah stared at the closed door of Roland's room as if she was trying to fathom its existence. "How dare he?" she muttered to herself angrily. It wasn't often that she got angry, but it did happen, and right now, she was livid. "We're supposed to be a team!" she called out to the closed door. There was no response from within. "If those two don't start getting along soon, I think _I _might go out and kill someone." With that, she set out to find Emily and figure out what the hell was going on.

WWW

Emily was cold. Not that the pool room in which she still sat was chilly-it wasn't-but she felt it none the less. She watched as families with young children came in to enjoy the use of the pool, wondering vaguely what those parents might have thought if they had come in about ten minutes earlier. But such thoughts skidded across the surface of her mind; completely meaningless for the moment. She started at the rippling blue water of the pool, but didn't actually see it all. All she saw was the look on Roland's face as he fucked her. All she heard were the sounds of her own moans as she let him.

She sat in the same place Roland had left her, her hand still stinging slightly from where she had hit him, his response echoing in her ears. _Lots of love to you too, baby._ He had said, every word cold and laced with hate. She had sat there, wondering to herself, asking herself what she had done. She was still doing it now. She couldn't believe it. How had it happened? One minute everything had been normal, the next… She placed her head in her hands and wanted to sob, but the tears wouldn't come.

"Mommy, what's wrong with that lady? She looks sad. Is she sad? Maybe she would like some ice cream? That always makes me happy when I'm sad," a little girl's voice skirted over the edge of her consciousness, but she didn't look up.

"Leave the lady alone, Amelia. I don't think she wants you bothering her," a mother's firm yet kind voice drifted by. Again, Emily didn't look up.

Other voiced drifted by but she paid them no attention. It wasn't until she felt herself being shaken by an insistent pair of arms that she finally looked up. It was Susannah.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" Susannah asked in an irate voice, crossing her arms over her chest in an angry stance. "You want to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Roland?" Susannah asked, moving to sit on the deck chair next to the still silent Emily, trying to keep her voice down as they were in public. "Well? Are you going to answer me or are you just going to sit there like you don't understand a word I'm saying?" she asked angrily. They did not have time for this.

"No," Emily said in a small voice before Susannah pounced on her.

"No what? Is that all you have to say for yourself? No? We're on the hunt for a serial killer who's probably off adding another tally to his list while we sit here and argue like children. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to drag you over to Roland's room and force the two of you to work this out? Something I incidentally should have done long ago," she muttered under her breath.

"No, don't," Emily almost pleaded with her, the mere thought of having to face Roland again turning her stomach.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to follow through with that threat?" Susannah asked, intrigued by Emily's reaction at having to face Roland. Just what the hell had happened between the two of them?"

"I'll tell you. Just-just not here," Emily said softly, wanting nothing more than to never enter this place where her life had been so irrevocably fucked up ever again. She stood up off of the debauched deck chair and straightened her clothing once more, aware of Susannah's eyes upon her the entire time.

"Alright. We'll go back to the room," Susannah said with a slight nod, not pressing for more at the moment. Once they were in privacy, she would ask her questions. And by God, she'd get her answers.

WWW

"Just put the gun down and go back into the fucking house. You don't want to get our ass shot or thrown into jail, do you?" Jeffrey tried to reason with Sands.

"I really couldn't give a damn," Sands said with a cheerful smile. "And if you're so worried why don't you head back without me?" he said, snickering. "Oh wait, I guess that won't work." The snickering turned into full-out hysterical laughter. Sands had clearly lost it. "I guess you'll just have to come along. You can watch. I promise I'll put on a good show," he said with a quick nod.

"This is not fucking good," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, watching as Sands strode out from the house and into the public, not even bothering to hide the gun.

"Fuck, there aren't that many people out," Sands said with a slight pout.

"Well it is still rather early in the day," Jeffrey responded automatically before cursing himself softly for encouraging Sands.

"Hmm, you're right. Thanks. I guess we'll just have to go somewhere where there are more people. We wouldn't want all these bullets to go to waste. That would be stupid," he said with a nod, as if his explanation were the clearest thing in the world.

"Fuck this. Sands, at any other given time I'd be happy to tear the fucking town to shreds with you, but right now isn't the fucking time. You're not in your right mind. And in being that way you aren't thinking clearly. I will _not_ spend the rest of my fucking life in an institution just because you feel like turning fucking kamikaze."

"I'm not in my _right mind?_" Sands repeated with an air of incredulity. "Jeffrey, as long as you're around, I'll never be in my right mind. You do realize that, right?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Fuck that. Just go back to the fucking house and calm down. I refuse to just sit idly by and let you destroy us."

"Jeffrey, you haven't got a fucking choice."

WWW

Roland sat on the bed in his hotel room and went over again and again what had happened between him and Emily in his head. It all seemed like a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream-except for the ending, that was-but a dream all the same. It couldn't have really happened. That single sentence echoed through his mind, but there was no substance behind it. It _had _happened. He had slept with Emily. In public. He had thrust into her over and over again, bringing them both to release when they could have been caught at any time. He wished now that that had happened. That they had been interrupted before thing could go any further than they had.

_There's no fucking use in thinking about that now_. He thought to himself, rising to his feet. _It happened. It's too late for regrets._ He sighed. It was true. He could either sit here bemoaning the fact that it had happened, or he could do something about it. He needed to talk to Emily. And he really didn't want to. After he had pulled on his dark suit coat he grabbed is .357 and stuck it in the holster at his belt and clipped extra ammo on the other side. He was a little over armed just to be going out to talk to Emily, but he had learned to be cautious. You never knew when you might be thrust into a situation where that caution was warranted. And with a serial killer lose in the city that had already tried to kill him once he was taking no chances.

With this thought in mind, he left his hotel room to face the consequences of his actions.

WWW

"We're almost there. And then you're gong to tell me what the hell is going—" Susannah was cut off by the closing of a door down the hall and a gasp from Emily.

"I uh, thought that was going to be harder. To find you I mean," Roland said, seemingly as dumbfounded as Emily was. "Listen, Emily. I'm fucking sorry, alright? I was out of line."

"You were _out of line?_" Emily practically screamed at me. "First you fuck me, then you call me a cunt. Yeah, I'd say you were out of line, you miserable bastard!"

"Oh fuck you! As I remember it you fucking deserved that comment. But it doesn't matter, cause you fucking slapped me before I could say it anyway, so what difference does it make?" he asked with a sneer.

"God I hate you. I wish that bastard Sands had just killed you when he had the chance," as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emily gasped, as if she couldn't believe what she had said.

Roland went very still, not saying a word, just looking at her. Susannah was reduced to decoration by now. Neither combatant took any notice of her any longer. "And to think, I actually came to apologize. What the fuck was I thinking?"

"Roland, I'm—" Emily started.

"No. Don't even say it. Fucking forget it. You're a cold bitch, Emily. You always have been, and you always will be. And you know what happens to cold bitches? They die in their own arms, miserable and alone. Just fucking forget it." He stalked past her and Emily without another word.

"Oh God, what have I done now?" Emily asked herself hollowly, trying not to react to Roland's words. There had been enough heated words between the two of them to last a lifetime. There was no point adding to number now.

"I have no idea, but you're going to tell me what the _hell _that was all about and you're going to do it _right fucking now!_" It was Susannah's turn to yell now, and she wasted no time in doing so. She opened the door to their room and practically dragged Emily through it and sat her down on the bed. "I don't have time for this shit, Emily. _We _don't have time for this shit. Tell me what happened and hopefully we'll be able to track down Roland before he goes off and does something stupid."

Emily took a deep breath before speaking, not meeting Susannah's eyes as she spoke. "Roland found me where you did-sitting on a deck chair in the pool room. Only it was empty then, and I think he locked the door somehow," she said absently. "He wanted to talk, and for awhile we did."

"And then?" Susannah pressed at Emily's paused.

"He kissed me," Emily said softly. "And I kissed him back." She paused from going further with that line of thought and asked, "Did I ever tell you that he and I were lovers, Sus?"

"No, I think I would have remembered something like that," Susannah said absently. She wasn't really surprised though. The tension that had been between them for as long as she had known either of them had always been on the edge of sexual.

"A long time ago. I met him at the Farm during training. We were young and stupid. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't really know why he broke it off-I never have-but it wasn't…on the best of terms."

"I hadn't noticed," Susannah said dryly.

Emily seemed not to hear her and went on. "I don't know why he kissed me. I don't know why I kissed him back, but before I knew it we were having sex right there on that fucking deck chair."

Susannah closed her eyes with a wince. "I don't suppose you used protection?" she asked softly.

"Protection? Hell, I didn't even take my shoes off!" Emily moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"I see," Susannah said slowly, not knowing what else to say. She supposed Emily would deal with a potential pregnancy if and when the time came. She hoped to God that it didn't.

"After that I was embarrassed, shocked. So was he, I think. We both said some things, it doesn't matter what they were, but that just made things worse between us," Emily said with a sigh, sill not looking up.

"I can imagine," Susannah said with a sigh of her own, trying to work out a way to fix this. "Alright, you two need to talk, obviously. Let's go track down Roland and you two can have your conversation. I'll play referee," she said with a weary sigh. "But this needs to be dealt with. Now. I don't care if you have issues; I don't care if you're carrying his goddamned child right as we speak. We do_ not _have time for this right now. Do you understand?" Emily nodded. "Good. Then come with me. Let's get this sorted out while we still can."

WWW

It was a little early to be drinking, all things considered-it was only about 9-but Roland could have cared less at the moment. He sat at the bar in the restaurant of the hotel and the only thought that kept running through his head like a mantra was the need for a drink. So he sat, nursing a single shot of bourbon and tried to figure out just when his life had gotten so irrevocably fucked up. He was just about to start contemplating this when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden blaring of the television turned on over the bar.

_"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring this live story. An armed gunman has gone on some kind of rampage in the metro train station, shooting anyone and everyone who gets in his way. The death toll stands at 6 and is sill rising. The local police have been doing everything they can to bring this man down but as of yet they have been unsuccessful. Wait-this just in. The man has been positively identified as billionaire Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, of DC. According to police here and in __Washington__, Mr. Sands is a wanted suspect in the murder of at least 8 people. It would seem those suspicions were well-founded. We here at WOBN will bring more as soon we can in this terrible late breaking story."_

"Oh, fuck," Roland whispered, not believing what he had just seen. Standing up from the bar he ran out, his tie flapping behind him, not bothering to pay for his drink or call Emily and Susannah. Sands had to be stopped. Now.

WWW

"He's not here. I thought for sure he'd be here," Emily said with a frown, scanning the practically empty bar for Roland's dark figure. He was no where to be seen.

"I'll ask the bartender. If he was here like you say, then the bartender would have seen him. There's no one else in here," Susannah said, walking toward the young gentleman who seemed to be arguing with himself over something. "Excuse me, sir? We're looking for a man who might have been in here earlier. He's about 6'4'', blonde hair, dark suit?"

"Oh, you mean that fucking bastard who ran out on paying for his drink earlier? Why? Does he owe you money too?" the bartender asked with a scowl.

Susannah sighed and pulled a ten out of her wallet and laid it on the bar. "That should be more than enough to pay for his drink." The bartender moved to grab the ten and Susannah slammed a hand down on top of his, holding it fast. "There's another twenty in it for you if you can tell us where he went."

"I dunno, he went crazy after seeing something on the television," the bartender said with a frown, looking down at the money that remained out of reach.

"What did he see?" Susannah asked.

"What do you mean he went crazy? Crazy how?" Emily asked on top of her.

The bartender looked at both of them and answered their questions one at a time. "It was a news report. Apparently some nutjob started blowing people away downtown at the train station. Your guy just seemed to freak and ran out of the bar after seeing it."

Susannah had a sinking suspicion about this but she had to ask anyway. "You didn't happen to hear what the shooter's name was, did you?"

"Yeah, I have a pretty good memory and this one just seemed to stick. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands."

"Fuck," Emily whispered.

"What? You two know this whacko too?" the bartender asked curiously.

"We're the ones chasing him," Susannah responded, giving the man his money. "Thank you for your help." Dismissing the bartender, she turned to Emily. "We've got to get to him before Sands does."

WWW

"Stop this, you fucking psycho! You're going to get us fucking killed!" Jeffrey screamed as Sands reloaded the .45 and picked off a few more of the screaming members of the crowd that were trying their best to get away from them. Jeffrey had to admit; even under pressure-although he didn't seemed to be showing any outwardly-he was a good fucking shot.

"Why should I? Why should I do anything you tell me to do? I fucking hate you. Ever since you fucking showed up in my head my life has been nothing but shit," Sands growled after shooting a few more people. It was getting harder, they were beginning to take cover.

"How many fucking people have you killed already? Do you even fucking know? I think you've made you're fucking point. Let's just get the fuck out of here before the fucking cops get here. Which shouldn't be very long. Especially considering you've already fucking shot two. Cops don't look kindly on people who take out there own. There's a bullet with our fucking name on it out there, and I don't want to embrace it today, asshole. Not today."

Jeffrey's words gave him pause. How many people _had_ he killed? He hadn't been paying attention. If they were in front of them, they died. It was as simple as that. He would keep killing them until either he was dead himself or out of bullets. Feeling the heavy box of ammunition in his left pocket, the first option was more likely at this point. "How many?" he asked, taking a shot at a cowering woman hiding behind a trash can. Unfortunately, he merely clipped her, probably shattering her collarbone. She would still likely die of blood loss, but the miss pissed him off.

"All together or just today?" Jeffrey asked, scowling.

"Don't fucking play with me, Jeffrey. I'm not in the mood. How many?"

"Not counting the people in fucking DC and at the party you've killed 10 if that woman you fucking just missed dies," Jeffrey said evenly.

"She will," Sands said absently. "Hmm…only ten? That's not nearly fucking enough. I'm not even out of bullets yet. Not to mention, the police have yet to arrive. You'd think they'd fucking be quicker than this."

"You're fucking insane. Do you want to die? Tell me the fucking truth, you asshole. I need to know if I have to fucking fight you. Because I do _not_ want to fucking die. I have fought to long and too hard for this fucking life and I'll be damned if I give it up now."

"Haven't you been fucking paying attention?" Sands yelled. "You have no choice! As long as I'm fucking around you have to do what I want! And the only way to fucking get rid of me is to fucking kill yourself and you already said you don't want to fucking do that. It seems we're at a bit of an old-fashioned Mexican standoff, wouldn't you say, Jeffrey buddy?"

"Fuck you. I will _not _let you fucking throw this life away simply because you're having a bad fucking day," he said, grabbing the gun from Sands' hand and shooting the member of the press that had just poked his head out from behind a pillar in the throat and his camera man right through the lens. "12," he muttered after Sands had taken the gun back.

WWW

Roland ran. He knew the train station wasn't far from the hotel, and he couldn't count on the length of time it would take to get there in a car or how many people Sands would have killed by then.

He could hear people yelling at him as he ran by, and he knew he must have looked like a madman. He was running full tilt dressed in a suit and tie, pushing anyone and everyone aside who got in his way. He would have had his gun out-he probably _should_ have had it out-but he couldn't risk getting stopped by some well-meaning cop who was overly concerned about the gun wielding suit running down his streets.

"I'm going to shoot that fucking bastard myself. Please God; let me get to him before any of the cops can," he prayed fervently to a God he was hoping would be feeling vengeful. "Right between the eyes into that sick fucking twisted head of his. That's all I ask."

He sincerely hoped he wasn't running to his own death.

WWW

"You're a fucking pussy. So what, there's a few cops out there. Stop fucking hiding and go out to meet them," Sands grumbled, pissed that Jeffrey was forcing them to hide underneath the ticket counter as bullets sailed over their head.

"A _few fucking cops?_" Jeffrey screamed. "You bastard! There's a full fucking battalion of them out there! God I fucking hate you! I wish you would just fucking die so I could get some fucking peace! You're insane! I may like to kill a few dozen people, sure but you just fucking killed 20 people and I can feel you wanting to shoot some more! There is no fucking way they'll let us live now."

"Stop being so fucking melodramatic. Everything will be fine, you'll see. And if not, we'll die. Who the fuck cares? I don't. I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of this life, I'm tired of the killing-but that seems to be the only thing I'm good at anymore, and I'm fucking tired of you. I just want it all to end. And if this is how it's going to be, then so be it. I'm fucking ready."

"Well I'm fucking not!" he yelled at his unhinged other half. The irony that he seemed to be the rational one for a change once again occurred to him, and he couldn't stop himself from giving a desperate laugh.

"Give yourself up, Sands. There's no where to go! You're fucking surrounded!" an irate voice came over a loudspeaker after the gunfire had stopped.

Sands rose up with lighting-quick speed and took out another cop before taking cover again as a hail of bullets once more assaulted their position.

"Fuck this!" Jeffrey yelled. "Listen up, you fucking cops and listen well. My name is fucking Jeffrey and I'm Sands' alternate fucking personality!" he had no idea if they would believe him or not, but he had to try. He'd be damned if died in this fucking train station. He had to escape somehow, and with the cops' current itchy trigger fingers, that would be more difficult than if they were trying to negotiate him out. "I don't want to fucking get shot, but I've got a fucking hostage!" That was true. There was a young woman at his feet that had been hiding here when he had rushed in. Sands had shot her in the leg, but Jeffrey convinced him not to kill her. She was currently huddled in on herself, not making a sound except for an occasional whimper.

"Release the hostage, throw out the gun, and we'll talk." It was a different voice this time, probably some kind of police negotiator. Where were his three CIA agents? Surely they must have known about this by now?

"I don't want to talk to you! Get me Rivers!" he yelled, not entirely sure why he had asked. He tried to convince himself that he was stalling, but in truth, he really wanted to talk to him. At least with him, he knew where he stood.

There was a fumbling of the blow horn as it was handed off to another person. "Give yourself up, you fucking psychotic bastard. There's no where left to run," Roland's cold voice echoed over to him.

"You sound pissed off, what's the matter, Rivers? And I'm fucking Jeffrey, not Sands!"

"You've killed 21 fucking people! Of course I'm fucking pissed off!" Roland yelled into the blow horn, his voice booming throughout the practically empty train station.

"Actually, I killed most of them. Jeffrey only killed two!" Sands yelled sullenly, after losing a fight with Jeffrey over the control of the gun. "You fucking knew this would happen though, so why don't you tell us why you're really pissed off?!"

"I'm fucking pissed off because I didn't get to you first," Roland murmured, his voice filled with ice.

"I see. Well, if they'll let you, you could always press the needle when they fucking execute us. Or do they electrocute people in this state?" Sands asked wryly. "Either way, I'd let you do it. We're old pals!" The giggle that Sands gave after that was nothing short of insane.

"He's fucking lost it! I didn't want to fucking kill any of those people! I just want to fucking get out of this alive! You want the fucking hostage? Fine, take her! I don't fucking care any longer!" He knew full well that he was probably throwing away his only bargaining chip, but what the hell else was he going to do? "Get the fuck out of here before I fucking change my mind," he muttered to the cowering girl. She looked up at him with wide eyes as if she didn't trust him. "Go!" he screamed. She ran pretty fast for someone with only one good leg.

WWW

"Roland, thank God. What the hell is going on here?" Susannah asked, coming to his side, Emily hanging back a little, uncharacteristically not saying a word.

"That bastard Sands, or Jeffrey, or whatever the fuck he wants to call himself just killed 21 people. He's holed up behind that ticket counter up there. He's trying to negotiate," he said evening, not looking at her or Emily.

"Who is? Sands or Jeffrey?" Emily asked in a soft voice.

"Don't tell me you really believe that shit? That's got two personalities? Come on. It's a load of shit. Some line he's feeding us so that he'll spend the rest of his life in an institution rather than on death row," Roland said with a sneer.

"Somehow I think he'd rather be on death row than in an institution. But I suppose we'll just have to wait for him to make that decision for us. Won't we?" Susannah asked, her eyes cast toward Jeffrey and Sands' position, wondering just what the hell was going to happen next.

TBC

A/N: WHEEZE. FINALLY!! Goodness, this chapter took FOREVER to write!! I hope it was worth the wait. Part II won't take NEARLY as long to write as this one did. I'm on a role for once! And for those of you who may think this story's nearing an end…think again! -Merrie cackles madly- I'm no where near being finished yet! So please, send me your reviews! Hope you still like it! OH! And to ALL of my reviewers-past and present-out there, THANK YOU!! You keep this story alive.


	15. As the World Falls Down, Part II

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: I own everyone but Sands. How about you just give him to me so I can say I own everyone? No? Damn. Well, it was worth a try anyway.  

Author's Note: This is it folks. The second part of the climatic chapter. It's been a long road getting here, and I'm certain it'll be a long way home.

Sooo sorry for not having this up sooner! I've been without a computer for weeks now and have just finally gotten it to working condition again. Sorry for the wait!

Rating: R for extreme violence and naughty words.

Chapter Fifteen: As the World Falls Down, Part II

Jeffrey was fucked. He crouched with his back up against the ticket counter, gun in his slightly trembling hand, and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't see any way out of this that didn't end up with him going down with a fucking bullet between the eyes. He damned Sands again for getting him into this but if the other man heard the curses, he gave no sign. He didn't do much of anything, really. Jeffrey knew he was still there, and yet, he wasn't. Sands seemed to have buried himself away within his own mind, leaving Jeffrey in charge to deal with the huge fucking mess he'd left him in. It wasn't fucking fair. Jeffrey had been careful. He hadn't wanted this to fucking happen. He liked his life, his freedom. He didn't want that taken away from him.

"Throw your gun down and come out with your hands up you psychotic bastard," Roland yelled, earning an eye roll from Jeffrey at his reinvention of the usual police order.

What if he didn't feel like it? What if he'd rather just stay right where he was? He reached a hand in his pocket and checked the bullets in it. _Fuck. Only enough to refill the clip one more goddamned time. If you're going to fucking do something, Jeffrey, it needs to be done now. You can't stay here forever. _The problem was that he didn't know what to do. He was put between a rock and a hard place and he couldn't see a way out. While he might be relatively safe from the cops for now, an assault team could be moving in on his position at this very second and he wouldn't know it until they were already on top of him. He switched the gun to his right hand and wiped off his left on his red pant leg, smirking as he did so. He was still wearing the two-toned suit from the party last night. The jacket and bowtie were long gone, but the pants and red silk shirt remained. _I still hate the fucking suit, but at least I'll be going out in fucking style._ He thought to himself, brushing off some dirt from his legs before freezing. If his mind had already accepted the fact that he wasn't going to make it out of this fucking situation alive, then why bother waiting?

"Did you hear what I fucking said, you twisted asshole?" Roland's voice shouted through the blow horn again, although he seemed to have been cut off after the last word by someone else.

"Hey, Rivers! Are Emily and Susannah there with you? Wouldn't want them to fucking feel left out now, would we?" Jeffrey called out, not moving from his position.

"Give yourself up, please Jeffrey. No one else has to die. Just give yourself up and we'll see that you get the help you need. You don't have to ever hurt anyone else."

"That's not exactly what I fucking had in mind…Susannah, but thanks anyway," Jeffrey answered.

_What exactly do I have in mind? Come on, Jeffrey. You're smart. You can fucking figure a way out of this mess. Why the fuck did you let the hostage go? _"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he muttered in answer to his thoughts. "Sands? Are you still fucking there? I know you're listening. Why don't you fucking say something?"

Sands didn't reply.

"Well, that's just fucking great. Fine. Be that way. Don't say a word ever again. It'll save me a lot of fucking trouble if you didn't. Not that that matters now…" he muttered to himself, envisioning the battalion of cops that had him surrounded. _Don't forget about the SWAT teams, Jeffrey. They'll be brought in to take you out sooner or later. Hell, they might even bring in the National Guard for you. Wouldn't that be interesting? You'll be fucking famous. Pity you won't be able to appreciate any of it since you'll be dead. _"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jeffrey muttered. _Hey, I'm just fucking telling it to you straight. I don't see anyone else doing that, do you? _"No, I guess not," Jeffrey acquiesced with a frown. _Well there you go. _"Here I go."

Jeffrey rose to his feet, intent on raising his hands and offering up his weapon. He figured he'd take his chances with the police, or CIA or whoever the fuck caught him. It'd be far easier to escape them, than escape a large mass of pissed off and twitchy cops with their guns trained on his every moved, prepped to fire. He probably should have taken this into account before standing up so abruptly, for the bullet that tore its way through his abdomen probably could have been avoided.

When Roland saw Jeffrey go down, he both cursed the idiotic cop that had shot him when he seemed to be surrendering, and wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. "Move in! Repeat, move in! But by God, be careful! He's still armed!" Roland didn't necessarily think Jeffrey was still a threat, especially after seeing him take the gut shot that had dropped him to the ground, but better safe than ventilating air through a few fucking bullet holes in your skull or chest.

"That…wasn't…fucking…smart," Jeffrey groaned, reaching a hand down to his stomach and pulling it up to his face. It was covered in blood; his blood. "This, is not good," he muttered, raising his hands as he saw the guns pointed at him, dimly aware of a barrage of voices telling him not to move. Then, he saw someone's fist, and everything went black.

WWW

"You didn't have to hit him," Emily muttered, looking down at the now unconscious and bleeding Jeffrey at her feet. "He just got shot, and he'd likely going to spend either the rest of his life in prison, on death row, or in some kind of institution. You could have at least let him be for a minute."

Roland rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer." He waited a few moments, watching the bustle of policemen moving around him quickly before frowning. "He's a killer! I should have shot him in the head instead and saved us all a lot of fucking trouble!"

"Yes, he's a killer, but you're not, Roland. You saw him. He was trying to surrender when that cop shot him. Killing him now would be lowering yourself to his level. You don't want that," Susannah stressed, keeping her voice firm but gentle. "Let someone else deal with him right now. Fuck, just look at him. He needs a doctor."

Roland took a step back and forced himself to look at the man beneath him as a whole rather than at his face which he'd like to punch in. There was a pretty little hole through the red silk shirt Jeffrey was wearing, and a not so pretty ever-widening field of blood emanating from it. "Fuck. Can we get a doctor over here? I don't want this bastard dying before going to trial!"

The trio of CIA agents watched a few minutes later as their prey was lifted up in a stretcher in front of them and wheeled to the back of an ambulance. "The man's a cold-blooded killer. My advice would be to keep him doped up," Roland warned the paramedics tending to Jeffrey. "We'll meet you at the hospital." The two paramedics exchanged a look before pushing Jeffrey into the back of the ambulance, one of the men climbing in with him while the other moved around to drive. Roland, Emily and Susannah followed behind closely through the streets of Baltimore in a commandeered cop car, the siren blaring.

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"I can't stress the importance of keeping him sedated and restrained while under your custody, doctor," Roland said, getting more than a little irritated by the emergency room doctor's apparent incompetence.

Dr. Triana LaCroix looked at the lawman in front of her with an air of distaste. "And you're not listening to me, Agent Rivers. Mr. Sands isn't going anywhere. He just got out of surgery and he's not fit to lift his head off of the bed let alone escape. He won't even be awake for another hour or so."

Roland made a sound of utter exasperation. "Do you have any idea how many people that man has killed?! You're goddamned morgue is going to be full up today due to him!"

Susannah decided to step in before this situation got out of hand and Roland decided it would be a good idea to slap or punch the stubborn doctor. "We're just asking you and your staff to take precautions when it comes to dealing with Mr. Sands, Dr. LaCroix, and to notify us when he regains consciousness. That's all."

The doctor gave Susannah an evaluating look, scowled at Roland, then nodded. "I understand. You'll have a guard posted at the door to his room at all times, correct?"

Susannah nodded.

"I must insist that this guard does _not_ interfere with any of the work that goes on inside the room unless either I or one of the doctors is in danger. Mr. Sands has just gone through a traumatic experience and whether he be a killer or not, he's still _my _patient and I must look to his interests first. Do I make myself clear?" The doctor's tone brooked no argument. While Susannah nodded again, it was clear the doctor was speaking to Roland.

"Crystal," Roland said through gritted teeth. "Just keep in mind, that he _is_ coming with us to be tried and convicted for multiple counts of homicide when you're through with him, doctor. There will be no saving him then."

The doctor had just been about to storm off in a huff when Emily stopped her. "May I request you give Mr. Sands an MRI? By it I hope to answer some questions about Mr. Sands'…state of mind."

Emily hadn't spoken up before now and therefore hadn't specifically caused Dr. LaCroix any headaches, so the doctor nodded after a moment's hesitation. "I'll be sending you the bill," Dr. LaCroix said finally, turning on a heel and storming off to what Emily assumed to be Sands' room, leaving the three CIA agents in mutual silence and reflection.

WWW

It was quite a few hours before Jeffrey regained consciousness, and as soon as he opened his eyes he sorely wished he hadn't.

"Well look who decided to join us?" Roland drawled, his voice filled with venom. He rose from the rather uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in while watching over Jeffrey, and walked over to the side of the hospital bed. "Mr. Sands, a pleasure to see you again. How are you feeling?" he asked with mocking sweetness.

Susannah and Emily exchanged a glance at Roland's words and quickly made their way over to his side.

"I feel like I got fucking shot in the stomach by a fucking idiot flatfoot while I was trying to surrender. How about you? I didn't manage to catch you in the fucking crossfire did I? Pity. And I'm Jeffrey, not Sands."

Roland clenched his fists at Jeffrey's words and shook his head. "You must be insane if you think I'm going to buy that shit about you being crazy and having another person inside of that twisted brain of yours. You might be one sick son of a bitch, but you're not crazy. You knew what you were doing when you killed all of those people and you'll burn for them. I guarantee it," Roland said coldly, a vision of Yvette's laughing face flashing before his eyes making him want to strangle the man before him with his bare hands.

Jeffrey attempted to shrug with a wince. "I don't give a fuck if you don't believe me. That's not my problem." _No, you're fucking problem is that you're caught and you're going to jail for a very, very long time unless they decide to fucking execute you, you fucking moron._ "Think I don't fucking know that?" Jeffrey muttered under his breath.

"Are you aware of your actions…Jeffrey?" Susannah asked somewhat hesitantly.

"You mean do I know I fucking killed more people than I can keep track of? What was the final number, anyone know?" he asked casually. "Well actually I didn't kill most of them. That was Sands. I did kill Yvette though. She was a sweet little bitch. Looked twice as hot without eyes, let me tell you," he murmured, looking at Roland directly with a smirk. When Roland punched him hard on the face, he just laughed through bloodied teeth. "Well that was fun. What to try again? Hurt me just a little bit fucking more, Roland," Jeffrey taunted with a manic grin, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face.

Roland was about to oblige Jeffrey's wishes when his arms were pulled back forcefully by both Susannah and Emily. "You're just playing his game, Roland. Calm the fuck down," Emily instructed sternly, making sure Roland heard her and understood. "Sands, Jeffrey, whoever the fuck you are, shut up," she said with a glare in Jeffrey's direction.

"I'm Jeffrey as I mentioned Emily, and why should I? Why should I do anything you say? You're just going to A. send me to jail for the rest of my life, B. get me executed, or C. have me locked up in a fucking institution. Not happy choices, my dear CIA agents, but they are the choices I've been left with. Of course, there is always D. fucking kill you all and escape in a flood of blood and glory. I rather like that option," he said with a smirk.

"That's never going to happen, you fucking nutjob," Roland said coldly, having calmed down enough that Susannah and Emily had let him go.

"Tsk, Roland. There's no need for name calling. I was being civil," Jeffrey said with a smirk, still not bothering to wipe away the blood that had dried on his chin. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked, settling back into his hospital bed seemingly without a care in the world. "You must have wanted to talk about something. Spit it out. It's no time to be shy."

Roland was about to tell Jeffrey to go fuck himself when he was interrupted by the door opening and Dr. LaCroix stepping into the room. "Ah, Mr. Sands. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling? They aren't bothering you, are they?" she asked, sending Roland, Emily and Susannah a shrewd glance.

"Oh no, Triana. May I call you Triana? They have been a mite irritating, but it's just their way. I'm used to it, unfortunately. Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine. Scout's honor." He held up his hand in the scout signed and grinned wide like an innocent little school boy.

The smile she gave him was nothing short of beaming. "Of course you may," she said, not taking her eyes off of him as she handed Emily she scans she had asked for. They had done a full range of tests while Jeffrey had still been unconscious, and while she wouldn't admit it out loud in front of Jeffrey now, they left Dr. LaCroix feeling more than a little worried about her charming new patient.

Emily held up the images of the inside workings of Jeffrey and Sands' mind and frowned, biting at her bottom lip unconsciously in thought. She could feel Susannah looking over her shoulder, interested in what Emily saw, or what she thought she saw. "Take a look at the PET scan," Emily whispered to Susannah softly as Dr. LaCroix and Sands talked while Roland looked on. "There's a marked difference in the amount of neural activity in the frontal lobe here." She pointed to the chart. "There's less. What that means, in theory, is that most actions that normal people would shy away from as wrong or evil don't occur to him. They don't affect him in the same manner that we do. It's like this in almost every known psychotic's brain that has even been looked at in the way we're looking at Sands'."

"What about his schizophrenia? Is there any way of knowing whether or not that's real from that chart?" Susannah asked, keeping her voice low as she went over what Emily had told her.

"Not really, but I believe him. I know Roland doesn't, but I do. It's not the kind of story someone would make up and then adhere to so well as he has. I'm not saying that that makes him or whoever is the base personality innocent of his crimes, I'm not saying that at all. I believe that he's killed with all of them. They are all murderers and deserve to be judged for those crimes."

Susannah took a long look at Sands, shuddering a bit when he winked at her as if he knew every thought she had ever had or ever would have. She took a moment to steady herself, remembering that she was a field agent in the CIA; someone not to quail around the bad guys, and turned back to Emily. "I believe him too. But that doesn't change anything. I can't honestly believe he will try and go for an insanity plea to get out of jail. Just by looking at him you can tell he'd rather die than wind up in an institution somewhere."

Emily thought over that. The only thing she knew about mental institutions was from what she had seen in movies, but even given that limited frame of reference, she wouldn't have wanted to be in one either. But she didn't think that Sands would rather die than be put in one though. She believed he would fight for his freedom with his last breath. He was the type to not go down without a fight. That they had managed to catch him all was nothing short of unbelievable. She looked over him as he lay on the bed, obviously charming his way into Dr. LaCroix's good graces without even hardly trying. Emily herself had fallen captive to those charms, but unlike the doctor, she knew what Sands was capable of. She had seen him kill. She had seem the complete lack of emotion or remorse as he did so. The doctor had not, and that put her in danger. Emily made a vow to herself to warn the doctor off of Sands before something developed. She didn't necessarily think that anything would-Sands was well and duly caught-but she hadn't kept herself alive this long in a career as volatile as being a field agent for the CIA by being careless.

WWW

Jeffrey had the doctor eating out of the palm of his hand and he knew it. He had initially tested out his charms on the woman as a way to piss Roland off as he watched, but now that Jeffrey had the young doctor hooked he didn't feel like reeling her into the boat. He was bored with her hamhanded attempts to flirt with him in front of an audience of law enforcement people. It lacked grace. He wanted to end the conversation he had dug himself into with her, but he couldn't for the life of him see a way out of it. He cast a causal glance over at Emily and Susannah, smirking as he saw them holding whispered counsel. He wasn't close enough to hear the contents of their conversation, but he could guess. What else could they be talking about except him? The chart or whatever it was they were looking at gave him pause, however. He didn't know what it was. It looked like a scan of someone's brain. _Oh. It must be a scan of mine. Fuck that bitch doctor for taking it while I was fucking unconscious. I hope they're enjoying the view. _Inwardly he was seething, but when Susannah glanced over at him he winked at her as if he didn't have a care in the world. Seeing her shudder at his gesture lightened his spirits somewhat.

"Tell me where the bodies are, Sands. Now," Roland said coldly, interrupting Dr. LaCroix's offer to practically fluff his pillow for him. It seems as if the lean CIA agent had finally had enough.

Jeffrey gave Dr. LaCroix a look as if to say 'see what I have to deal with?' and smiled. "Could you excuse us, Triana? Agent Rivers and I need to talk." The doctor nodded, scowled openly at Roland, and left, closing the door behind her.

"Stop playing games, you psychotic bastard. Start talking. There's no way in hell you're going to get away with any of this so you might as well give it all up. Tell me about the people you've fucking killed," Roland seethed, his arms crossed over his chest only so that he wouldn't be tempted to pull out his gun and shoot the smug grin off of Jeffrey's face.

"I've always enjoyed a good bit of fucking story time, Roland. You might want to take a fucking seat. This is going to take awhile. You two ladies too, if you're done with your little meeting," he called out to the two female CIA agents. When they had both seated themselves; Roland remaining standing, Jeffrey went on. "So, just what would you like to know?" he asked, settling himself back into the bed with a careless grace.

"Tell us the name of the motel where you left Yvette's body, Jeffrey," Emily interrupted Roland's tirade before it could begin.

"That's all? Well, I must fucking say, I expected more," Jeffrey mocked. "Fine, she's in the Capitol Inn, room 13. Not that I think there's anything left of her or the transvestite desk clerk I left with her to find. Lye is nasty but fucking effective. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just fucking shot you know. I need my rest."

Roland surely would have slugged Jeffrey in the face had it not been for Susannah and Emily holding him back. "Roland, my dear chum, you really need to learn how to control your temper better. Have you ever considered taking courses in anger management? Susannah, Emily, perhaps you could help him?"

"Don't test us, Jeffrey, or I'll let him do what he wants to you," Emily warned with cold eyes.

Jeffrey let out a genuine laugh at that. "Are all agents of the CIA as fucking entertaining as you three are? I swear, you're like fucking stooges," he said with a smirk. He was having a ball. It was so fucking easy to push Roland's buttons that it would be stupid of him not to try.

"Fuck you. You're a sad, psychotic little man who's just doing this for the attention. That's why you killed Yvette, wasn't it? To get Sands' attention? Well it looks like it didn't last. Poor you. Just where is he anyway? Did he get tired of cleaning up after your messes?" Susannah shot at Jeffrey coldly.

Jeffrey went very still, all traces of humour gone from his face as if they had never existed. His words were very crisp and deliberate, his eyes filled with cold steel. "You don't know what you're talking about bitch."

Susannah refused to be daunted. "Oh really? Well then where is he? I've not heard a word from him. Did he decide he was better off without you? I wouldn't blame him. You're a sick bastard that needs to be put down." Susannah was aware of Emily hand of warning on her arm. She didn't care. She didn't necessarily know where these words were coming from, only that they kept spilling out of her mouth.

If Jeffrey had had something to throw at Susannah, he would have; anything that would spill her blood to the tile beneath her feet. He couldn't ever remember being so pissed off before. He hadn't even been angry when he had killed Yvette. He hadn't felt much of anything, truthfully. He just went about killing her and mutilating her body with a carelessness that only a truly sick bastard could achieve and he knew it. He also didn't know why he had had to mess her up like that. He hadn't done anything quite like it since. He had killed, pure and simple. He had taken no trophies, he just ended lives.

Susannah backed down a little at his silence. She had been tempted to mock him for his lack of an answer, but she didn't. She guessed the path his thoughts were taking by the cold glint his almost black eyes gave off and remembered just who and what he was. _Holy fuck, _I_ must be insane. What the fuck was I thinking? If he had the opportunity I'd be dead right now. Just look at him. _Susannah wisely kept any further comments to herself, turning to Roland and Emily. "I'm going to get some air." With that, she left them all in stunned silence.

TBC

A/N: Again, SOOOO sorry it took so long to get this up!! I haven't had a decently working computer for months! But all is well now. The computer is fixed and I'm back in business! Hope to see you all next chapter!!


	16. The Trappings of a Fettered Mind

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: I own everyone but Sands. How about you just give him to me so I can say I own everyone? No? Damn. Well, it was worth a try anyway.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the heck does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey (Sands), Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to get up. I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Rating: R for extreme violence and naughty words.

Chapter Sixteen: The Trappings of a Fettered Mind

Transferring Sands back to DC had been an utter nightmare. The Baltimore Police Department wanted to hold him and more than likely cause a few "accidents" in his cell for the people he had killed. As it was, Roland had had to turn into a fucking bureaucrat in this instance; something he really hated doing. But he would have hated having the bastards of the Baltimore PD getting their hands on him even more. Sands' first murder was in DC. He had fucking killed Yvette right in the heart of the Capitol, and that's where he would be tried. If there was anything left of him once DC was through with him, Baltimore was more than welcome to it.

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"We're going to have to talk about it sooner or later, Roland. You know that," Emily said softly but with a voice full of confidence-at least she managed to _sound_ confident in any case-as he drove in the federal vehicle they had been issued to the Capitol Inn to finally put Yvette's body to rest. If Jeffrey-she had now come to believe that he really was a fragmented facet of Sands' brain and therefore real-had been telling the truth, that is. But she had no reason to doubt that either. He knew he was caught, and now would want to share his "accomplishments" with the world.

He would want people to know about the people he had killed. He would want them to mourn their lost, and to hate him. And he would feel off of that hate like a parasite. Also, the level of arrogance he was no doubt feeling right now-despite being caught-would probably incline him to inquire as to whether or not he had made it into any of the record books concerning the number of people he had killed. He had.

And yet, after Susannah's surprising inquisition of him yesterday, his personality had seemed somewhat…muted. Almost as if he were actually deliberating over what she had said. They must have struck pretty close to the mark were that the case. They had certainly sounded legitimate in Emily's ears.

"Talk about what?" Roland asked casually, not even turning his eyes from the for a brief second to look at her as he spoke. _That_ stung.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps our little "indiscretion" in the pool room earlier at the hotel." If he wanted to play at being aloof, that was his business. But she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with it. They hadn't been able to track down Susannah before they had left, so now seemed to perfect fucking time to have this conversation. Now all she needed to do was to convince him of this fact.

"We fucked, Agent Brisbane. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less," Roland said casually. It was as if he were fucking ordering dinner rather than talking about the completely unexpected and utterly surprising sexual encounter they had shared. If he hadn't been driving she would have beaten the ever-living shit out of him for being such a callous bastard.

"Yes, that's right, Roland." Just because had descended into impersonal formality with the use of her title didn't mean that she was going to stoop to his level. "We _fucked._ Without thought or protection. Jest like old times, huh?" she asked dryly.

"We don't have any old times," Roland said evenly, refusing to rise to the bait over her comment about how they hadn't used protection during their little…tryst. She wasn't pregnant. She couldn't be. And fuck, even if she was, abortions were practically an in-office procedure nowadays. He wouldn't let such a notion bother him. What they had done was a mistake; a momentary loss of faculty in a meeting of passion. He just wanted to forget that it had ever happened.

Emily just smiled at him. "You're a real bastard. You know that? I can't imagine what I was thinking. Fuck, I wasn't thinking. You were just convenient, I suppose. That was probably it. The case was getting to me and I just needed to get laid. I should probably be thanking you."

Roland's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, but he managed to sound calm and pleasant enough. "You're most welcome, Agent Brisbane. Glad I could be of service."

There was no more talk after that. Emily had more to say, but she was far too pissed off to voice it with detachment now. And that's what she needed. She needed to cut herself off from the whirlwind of emotions she was currently feeling right now and remind herself just what an asshole Roland was. There had been a reason the passion they had shared hadn't lasted, and she needed to be reminded of that reason.

"This is it," Roland said evenly as they pulled up to the Capitol Inn. He had already called the local ME to meet them here, and Emily could pick out the large white van in the parking lot. The man she assumed was the ME got out of the van and walked over to meet them.

"Agents Rivers and Brisbane," Emily said smoothly when the small balding man had approached, offering her hand.

"Dr. Theodore Norris," the man said, shaking Emily and Roland's hands in turn with a dry, firm grip. Once their hands had all dropped back to their sides he looked meditatively at the motel. "You say the body is in there? In one of the rooms? It's been there for several days, correct?"

"Yes. We have a confession from the killer that he placed her body in the bathtub with another victim."

"Yes, Agent Rivers explained that over the phone. Did the killer truly use lye on the bodies?"

Roland scowled and nodded. "He wanted to get rid of the evidence. He hasn't been as careful since."

"You've caught him, then?" Dr. Norris asked casually, as if he had dealt with this kind of thing every day. Given his chosen profession, it was probably true. Give his chosen place of residence, it was most assuredly true.

"Yes, doctor. We caught him. Unfortunately we were too late to stop him from killing a great many more people, but at least he won't have the opportunity to kill anyone else ever again," Emily said softly.

"In the end, that's all that matters. There's no use worrying for the dead. Their worries are over now. They're at peace. Funny advice to be coming from a pathologist, I know, but it's the truth," Dr. Norris said with a slight shrug.

Roland just rolled his eyes and walked past the clearly eccentric man and into the motel. He had better things to do that to stand around listening to some kook jabber about the living and the dead. There was no one tending the desk so he simply stepped behind it and searched out the key to room number 13 and kept walking until he had stopped in front of the door, Emily and Dr. Norris appearing silently at his side.

"You might want to take a little of this to rub under your nose," Dr. Norris said, offering an open jar of Vick's Vapour Rub to him. "If these bodies have been there as long as you say they've been, it's going to smell pretty awful in there.

Roland glanced over his shoulder and saw that both the doctor's and Emily's upper lips were gleaming so he sighed and took a dollop on his finger and spread it across his upper lip, nearly coughing as the strong medicinal smell assaulted his nose.

"It'll smell a lot better than what's in there. Trust me," Dr. Norris said softly. Roland opened the door.

WWW

Susannah didn't want to be found. She had flown back to DC in silence, refusing to answer the clearly inquisitive looks on her colleagues faces. They wanted to know why she had gone against Sands like that. She had shocked them all, including herself in throwing down the gauntlet before him. What had shocked her more however, was how Sands and/or Jeffrey hadn't taken it up. Neither man had said a word about it during the flight to DC. Now granted, they'd been doped to the gills and probably unable to form coherent speech even if they'd tried, but even afterwards there were no words. There had been actions-Susannah had no doubt that if he'd been able, he would have killed her in the hospital room-but their had been no rebuttals. He hadn't denied anything she had accused him of, which led her to believe that she'd been right.

"Would you like some more coffee, Miss?" A man's voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up, startled.

"What? Oh. No thank you. I'd like the check if you don't mind," she told the waiter with a small smile before checking her watch. _Damn_. She had been so lost in her thoughts that the hours had slipped by unnoticed. She had been sitting there for quite a while now. No wonder he'd asked to refill her coffee cup. It was probably full of the same sludge as when she had first sat down a few hours ago.

"Certainly, miss," the waiter said, disappearing only to return a few minutes later with the check in hand. "I can take that whenever you wish. There's no rush."

"I'll pay now. I've been here long enough," Susannah muttered to herself, grabbing for her ostrich skin purse and pulling out her wallet. "Keep the change," she said, handing the waiter a bill and rising from her seat.

"Thank you, miss. Have a lovely day."

Susannah nodded absently and made her way out of the restaurant. _A lovely day, yeah right.__ We'll see just how lovely it is when the first order of business for the day is to check in on the psychopath you've got in custody to make sure he hasn't killed himself or anyone else._ A psychopath she had foolish antagonized in their last visit. _Oh yeah. Today's going to be perfect._

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Jeffrey was in pain and bored out of his fucking skull. _Hmm, if I can still feel the fucking pain, then it must be pretty incredible. Stupid fucking cop. If I ever found out who shot me I' m going to rip _his_ fucking stomach out. See how he likes it. _But such a thought didn't last for long. They had him doped up on painkillers for the gunshot wound that made it pretty fucking hard to concentrate on _anything_, but he knew for sure that he was back in DC again and that he might have been given a fucking anti-psychotic earlier to keep him calm. Whatever it was, he didn't feel like doing much of anything right now. Sure, the idea of an escape still appealed to him, but later. When he had the energy and didn't feel like someone had shoved a hot poker through his stomach.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Sands?" A professional sounding voice floated through his muddled consciousness. He might have corrected her, told whoever was speaking that he wasn't Sands, but it didn't seem worth the effort at the moment.

"Fucking spiffy, doc. A-ok. What's up?" he snickered. "What's up, doc?" He was fucking gone. Whatever combination of drugs they had given him had loosened his tongue and softened his brain. "You did something to me, didn't ya?" Jeffrey slurred, giving the doctor the best stern glance he could manage, which was little above a frown.

"You've been giving some painkillers for your gunshot wound and something to keep you calm, yes," the doctor answered in that same detached voice. "Please try and remain calm, Mr. Sands. The effects aren't permanent I assure you, but it was necessary. My name is Doctor Claire Harrington and I'll be looking after you during your stay here."

Jeffrey snickered. "Looking after me? I fucking hope that means what I think it does," he said, managing a leer.

Dr. Harrington wasn't amused. "Like I said, Mr. Sands, just try and remain calm. Don't bother trying to pull at the restraints either. You'll only end up hurting yourself."

"Restraints?" Jeffrey asked with a frown, looking away from the doctor for the first time to his chest. His wrists and bare feet were bound tightly to the bed with stiff restraints of tan leather. "What the fuck?" he pulled at them but they didn't budge. "Let me go!" The euphoria he had been feeling was beginning to change into something sharp and scary. He needed to get free. He couldn't stay here. They couldn't keep him. Not like this. "Please," he whimpered after a few minutes of frantic struggling. "Sands, where are you? I can't deal with this by myself. Sands!"

"Mr. Sands if you don't calm yourself I'll be forced to give you another shot. Now lie still. The restraints are for your safety as well as ours. They're not hurting you."

"They're hurting, they're strangling. Please let me go," Jeffrey moaned, his eyes rolling around the room frantically like a frightened animal. He needed to get out of here. "Walls are closing in," he moaned, actually imaging the walls moving in on him to crush him in moments. "Don't let them get me. Let me go!" He pleaded with her. "Sands, make her let me go!"

"I'm afraid we cannot do that, Mr. Sands. The walls are not closing in on you, I assure you," Dr. Harrington said in that same even voice, as if the sight of the hospital gown-clad man writhing on the bed pleading to be released had no affect on her. It probably didn't. She was a senior member of the hospital staff. She had probably seen much worse. With a nod, Dr. Harrington directed a young intern to give Jeffrey a sedative. Jeffrey whimpered when he saw the needle coming towards the IV that had somehow remained in his arm despite his thrashings and watched helplessly as the drug coursed its way through the tube into his arms as if he could stop it by will alone. It wasn't long before his struggles ceased, and he slipped off into the dreamless sleep of the heavily medicated.

WWW

Emily leaned against the outside wall of the motel and watched as the ME van rolled out of the parking lot with revulsion, sublimely thankful she had had the foresight to skip breakfast this morning. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and wiped at the sweat that had gathered at her upper lip. She then turned to Roland, her eyes widening as she saw his complexion was that of rice paper. "Are you alright?" Emily herself wasn't; seeing the leftovers of Sands' dirty work had left her reeling. The only way she was coping was that the grim visage she had seen was too horrible to be human in her mind. She allowed herself that detachment. That wasn't her friend and colleague Yvette St. Martin in the bathtub; that was something else. Not even a person.

"No, I'm not," Roland said softly, running a hand across his face in much the same way as Emily herself had just a moment ago. "He mutilated her." There was no need to ask who the 'he' was that he was talking about.

"Yes, he did," Emily responded in a whisper, the image of Yvette's smiling face trying to combine with the figure she had seen in the bathtub. It wasn't working.

"Why?" Roland asked with weariness. "He could have just killed her. Why…that?"

Roland's pain and confusion were so open and honest that Emily couldn't help but try and answer him. "I think Susannah was right. He wanted to make a statement. He wanted the attention."

"Well, he got it," Roland murmured. The rage he had been feeling towards Sands earlier had seemed to have just faded away, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness in its place.

"He'll pay for what he did, Roland. He won't get away with this. Yvette will get her vengeance," Emily said softly, telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.

"It won't bring her back, Emily. She's dead; murdered. Nothing will bring her back now. She doesn't care for things like vengeance. She doesn't care about anything anymore. She's dead and she's not coming back." This was said with a quiet but pained finality.

"No, she's not, Roland," Emily said with a sad frown, looking into his eyes. She looked away almost immediately, disturbed by the amount of loss and grief she saw there. She didn't want to believe that Roland had genuinely loved Yvette; it was easier to deal with that way. "I'm sorry," she said finally, not knowing what else to say, reaching out a tentative hand to place upon his shoulder. He accepted the comfort and even moved a hand up on top of hers.

They stayed in this position for a long while, neither of them saying a word until Roland suddenly cleared his throat. "We should get back to the hospital and check on Sands. And we need to find Susannah," he said softly, but he didn't move away from her and she didn't take her hand off of his shoulder.

After a few long moments the two of them finally seemed to realize the position they were in and separated with a little more haste than was probably necessary. "Right. Let's go," Emily said, straightening her already immaculate blouse and skirt. Roland just nodded and together they walked back to the car, keeping as much distance between them that was humanly possible when riding in the same car.

WWW

"You did what?" Susannah asked Dr. Harrington incredulously, a hand moving up to run a hand through her short brown hair in a frustrated gesture. "He's the lead suspect in a number of crimes. We need him conscious to confess to those crimes not a fucking vegetable!"

"I don't like your tone, Agent Cartwright. As Mr. Sands' primary physician, it is left up to my discretion whether to medicate him or not. He was in hysterics. He surely would have injured himself were it not for the restraints. I did what was deemed necessary and I don't take kindly to your insinuations that I don't know how to do my job."

Susannah wanted to throttle the well meaning doctor, but she was one who prided herself on her self-control, so she settled on a glare. "And when will, Mr. Sands be awake, Dr. Harrington? He is of the utmost importance to our investigation, and I fear time is of the essence."

"So you say. I myself disagree. Respectively. From what I've seen on the television and read in the newspapers about my patient, he is a killer, correct?"

"That is correct. He has killed many people, doctor," Susannah offered, unsure where the doctor was taking this.

"There is nothing more you can do for those victims now that cannot wait then, is there?" Susannah faltered and Dr. Harrington pressed her advantage. "He won't be able to tell you anything that will save the lives of any of those people, so I suggest you kindly wait. Mr. Sands will awake when it's determined whether or not he's still a danger to those around him. Including himself. I'm placing him on suicide watch effective immediately." She hesitated. "You may observe him if you wish, but if you attempt to thwart what I am doing for him I will have you thrown out and barred from further visitations with my patient. Is that clear, Agent Cartwright?"

"Crystal, Dr. Harrington," Susannah said, just managing not to slug her. _God save me from pompous, bitch doctors. _

"Very good. If you would come this way, I'll direct you to Mr. Sands' room." Susannah nodded and followed Dr. Harrington down a series of twisting corridors and security-locked doors. "This hospital used to be a state-run mental institution in the 50s. It was renovated into the medical hospital you're in now a few decades later when it was decided that rehabilitation was the correct solution for the insane." The way Dr. Carrington said this indicated that she didn't agree with that particular philosophy. "While most of the hospital is indeed a modern medical facility, a few remnants of the old institution remain. The wing we're not entering was used to house the criminally insane. It seemed appropriate that Mr. Sands stay here. Everything is up to code of course. The building has been very well maintained over the years. Perhaps some day it will be an institution again."

Susannah remained quiet throughout the impromptu history lesson, trying not to think about what such a place had been like in the 50s, and sublimely thankful that she would be able to leave at the end of the 'tour.' The walls were painted in a nauseating puke-green, the fluorescent lights were garish, and the tile squeaked under their shoes as they traversed the halls.

After what seemed like hours, they finally came to a halt in front of a seemingly innocuous door, save that it had a pair of armed guards standing sentry in front of it. Susannah didn't recognize either of them, but nodded to them all the same as she passed into the room. She froze when she saw the man she'd come to visit, a hand going up to her mouth without thought. _Jesus, they've got him tied up like a fucking animal._

Jeffrey was bound hand and foot in five-point restraints, but yet he didn't struggle. He didn't really even acknowledge their presence either. His eyes were open, but Susannah could see that they were glazed over and was fairly certain that if she were to wave a hand in front of his face she would get no response. "What did you give him?" she asked Dr. Harrington in a quiet voice.

"Geodon. It's an anti-psychotic and a mood stabilizer. Something to keep him calm," Dr. Harrington answered after a moment's hesitation.

_Yeah, he's definitely calm. He's a step away from drooling like an infant. _"Is he still cognizant?" she asked, taking a step closer to him. His eyes didn't follow her across the room. _That_ did not bode well.

"More or less. The drugs keep him in an even state of mind. They prevent him from having extreme highs or lows of emotion. He should be able to answer your questions."

"Should be, or will?" Susannah asked, not taking her eyes off of Jeffrey.

Doctor Harrington didn't have an answer for that one.

WWW

Jeffrey was…aware; nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, or who the two women speaking in muted tones really were-although they both seemed tantalizingly familiar-he wasn't really self-aware, either, but it was a kind of aware all the same. He knew he was awake, he knew he was alive, and he knew he was a prisoner. He wasn't entirely sure how he had come to the last conclusion…oh, it probably had something to do with the fact that he couldn't move his arms or legs. Was he paralyzed or chained down? He didn't know.

"Jeffrey? Sands? Can you hear me?"

He turned his head slowly towards the sound of the voice after trying to move his arms. The action was accompanied by a restricting force around his wrists. _Chains then._ "Jeffrey can hear you. Sands is gone. Don't know where he went. Maybe he's not coming back." His eyes came into focus on a face to match the familiar voice. "Susannah. Enemy. You ask too many questions. I wanted to kill you. Don't now though. How about that?"

"Yeah, how about that," Susannah repeated with a slight frown. "Jeffrey tell me, how many people have you killed? Is there anyone we haven't found yet?"

"Probably. Don't know. How many have you found? Because I've killed a lot of people. Sands too. 30 maybe? There were a lot in Baltimore," he supplied with a lazy grin. "I didn't kill most of them though. Sands did. He fucking lost it. Gone. Bye bye."

"Thirty. Jesus Christ," Susannah muttered under her breath.

"Is that some kind of fucking record? Because that would be…neat," Jeffrey slurred.

"You're definitely on the list," Susannah muttered absently, more than a bit horrified by the whole situation.

"On the list but not at the top?" Jeffrey inquired with such curious innocence that it made Susannah's skin crawl.

"No. Not at the top." The top was some 200 bodies more than that, but Susannah definitely wasn't going to share that bit of information. He might get the idea that he had something to prove.

"Oh. Well I guess that's ok. I made the list. That's enough right?" he asked with a lazy grin. "Are they going to execute me, Susannah?"

"I-I don't know, Jeffrey. It's a possibility." _Yeah right. With as obviously insane as he is they'll consider it a mercy to lock him up in some institution for the rest of his life. For his own good. _

"Yeah. That would be ok. I wouldn't mind. I'd rather die than be locked up, you know? I get claustrophobic in jail cells." He laughed at that and Susannah shuddered at the sound. "Will you come to watch when they execute me? Roland will, I'm sure. But will you?"

How could she answer something like that? This man had killed one of her best friends in cold blood. He had murdered scores of others in much the same way and now he was asking if she would attend his execution like a pimply-faced teenager asking a girl out on a date to the prom. "Do you want me to?" she asked at last.

Jeffrey nodded vigorously. "I do, I really do, Susannah. You're very brave. I'd rather kill you I think, but since I can't do that I want you to come."

Susannah had just been about to speak up again, when Jeffrey interrupted her. "Ah, Roland! Emily! You're all here! Now the party can truly begin!"

TBC

A/N: Well this chapter was fun. Poor Jeffrey's in a bad way. And Dr. Harrington's going to be trouble, I can tell. And don't ask me what's going on between Roland and Emily at the moment. You know as much as I do on that count. They haven't been telling me anything. Anyway, to all my reviewers, a hearty thank you. See you in a week with the next chapter!

Also, as I'm still without a full-time beta, all mistakes are my own.

-Merrie


	17. We're All Mad Here

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland, Emily, Susannah and all others own me. I would never even attempt to claim otherwise.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the heck does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Finally, Sands comes back! All rejoice! Well, maybe not rejoice. There's much angst in store for him and Jeffrey, I'm afraid.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Seventeen: We're All Mad Here

Emily and Roland just looked at each other, looked at Jeffrey, and looked at Susannah, frowning in tandem. It was a bit unsettling to say the least. "Hello, Emily. Roland," Susannah spoke up. "Jeffrey's a little…out of it."

"So it would seem," Emily said dryly.

"Fuck, is he going to be able to tell us anything in this state?" Roland asked with a frown, moving a little closer to Jeffrey's side. The wide grin on Jeffrey's face gave him pause.

"He's already confessed to thirty murders, Roland. And I think he's telling the truth," Susannah said with a sigh.

"Oh!" Jeffrey spoke up suddenly, startling them all. "I remembered one you probably haven't found! Someone named…Halia. I met her on the way back from the Halloween party and killed in her home after fucking her. It's where I got the gun. She had it in her underwear drawer." He giggled. "Can you imagine that? A gun in your underwear drawer?" He snickered. "A pistol with your panties?"

"Yeah, hilarious," Roland said with a frown and a raised eyebrow before turning to Dr. Harrington who stood near the doorway, watching the proceedings with a detached manner. "What the hell did you give him?" he asked in sotto voice.

"Something to keep him calm," she said evenly. "I'm glad to see its working."

"Keep him _calm?_ Good Christ, woman. This isn't keeping him calm; it's turned him into a fucking fruitcake! How are we supposed to trust anything he says to us in this state? He could be fucking imagining it all!"

"I don't like your tone, Agent Rivers. Mr. Sands is _my_ patient. I've already gone over this with your colleague, Agent Cartwright. If you don't like my methods for dealing with him, feel free to leave," Dr. Harrington said haughtily, her arms crossed over her chest in an uncompromising manner.

"She's a real cold bitch, isn't she? Can I request another doctor? This one's broken." Jeffrey piped in with a laugh that Roland _almost_ found himself joining.

Dr. Carrington didn't even bother responding to that. She just ignored Jeffrey's off-hand comment as if he were something to be humored from time to time, but ultimately ignored. "I have other patients to attend to. You may have," she checked her watch, "exactly fifteen minutes alone with Mr. Sands. But if I find out that you are abusing your privileges in any way and thereby undermining my attempts to rehabilitate him, you will be escorted from the premises and not permitted to speak with him alone again. Do you understand?" She looked at each of them in turn sternly, before turning on a sharp heel and exiting the room.

"Psst," Jeffrey whispered. "Now that the cat is away, the mice can play." He paused. "Not that I consider myself a mouse of course."

"Maybe a rat," Roland muttered under his breath. Susannah hushed him and moved closer to Jeffrey.

"Jeffrey, is there anything else that you can tell us? Anything at all?" Susannah asked in a quiet voice meant to be calming. Jeffrey smiled at her.

"Feel free to lock me up anytime, sugarbutt. You too, darlin'," he directed toward Emily, giving them both a leer and pulling against his restraints in a writhing, sensual manner. Susannah blushed, Emily just looked intrigued, and Roland looked as if he were about to shoot him.

"Cut the bullshit, Sands," Roland said with a scowl. "You're caught, you sick son of a bitch. And you're going to fucking fry. What do you have to say about that?"

Jeffrey seemed unperturbed about his impending death or consequent incarceration. "Cut the bullshit, Rivers," he echoed with a grin, still rocking against the restraints slowly. "Not Sands, not Sands, not Sands," he said with each pull against his bonds. "Sands left. He's a pussy. He abandoned me to this fucking place. Don't know if he's ever coming back. If he does, I'm going to beat the shit out of him for doing this to me. You hear that, you yellow bastard?!" he shouted up to the ceiling. "Come back," he moaned afterwards, the anger that had been in his voice seemingly nonexistent.

"It's as I said. You need him, don't you Jeffrey? He balances you, doesn't he? He keeps the two of you from falling apart," Susannah asked cautiously, looking down at the struggling man beneath her, the blush on her face a thing of the past. She had let him get to her. Such a thing wasn't going to happen again.

"No," Jeffrey moaned, shaking his head violently. "He left me! But I don't need him! I don't fucking need anyone, you bitch!" he hissed, pulling at his restraints once more as if he wanted to lunge at her and tear her throat out. From the look of utter rage that passed across his face, that was more than likely the truth. Then, as suddenly as it had happened, the rage was gone, and he stared up at the ceiling again with rolling, drug-glazed eyes. "I don't need him. Fuck, maybe he's not even real. Wouldn't that be fucking hilarious? Maybe I just imagined him and it's only ever been me all along. Maybe there is no Sands! Only me! Me, me, only me," he repeated over and over.

"That's where you've got it wrong, you bastard," Roland hissed at him, leaning in close over Jeffrey's restrained form. "You're Sands. You've never been anyone else. I don't for a second believe this 'I'm not Sands, I'm somebody else sharing the same fucking body' story, and neither will the fucking jury. I'll make sure of it."

Jeffrey grinned. "Bullshit. You believe me. I saw it at the party; your belief. You knew then as you know now that I'm telling you the truth. We are two. Separate, divided, split, and yet whole, same, one. Sands and Jeffrey. Jeffrey and Sands."

"Oh yeah? Well if that's true, then where the fuck is Sands now?" Roland asked coldly, a smug smirk on his face.

"Pacing, always pacing. Like a fucking caged tiger in my mind," Jeffrey murmured absently. "He's here…but not. He doesn't want to come out and play with the other kids. He doesn't like their games. He doesn't want to join in with their fun. He wants to make his own. And _you_ aren't allowed to play. I'm not either," Jeffrey said with a sigh. "He's playing hide and go seek and someone forgot to end the game. He's still hiding, you see. Buried away where I can't get to him. But I know he's up there. If he wasn't…there would be only me. And the others."

"Others?" Emily asked softly, moving to stand at Roland's elbow near Jeffrey's bed.

"Of course. There are always others. Like me, but not. There are none quite like me. I'm special, did you know? None of the others have been able to take over like have. They have no voices. Only whispers."

"You mean other personalities?" Emily continued, casting a glance over at Susannah who caught her eyes and frowned thoughtfully.

"Oh come on. This is bullshit! Can't you see that he's playing you? This is all a fucking act!" Roland said irritably, his face filled with disgust.

Jeffrey laughed. "We're not in a china shop. No bulls here," he said gleefully.

"What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?" Roland asked.

"The mad cannot be asked to interpret their madness. It would never work," Jeffrey said with a solemn shake of his head. "Confusion would abound and the madness would spread. Is madness contagious? Are we all mad here? Are you going to all end up in here with me? That would be fun, wouldn't it? I wouldn't kill you, promise. I'd be good." Jeffrey let out a little maniacal laugh. "Well, I don't think I _can_ be good, actually. But I'd try!"

"Jeffrey, tell me about the others, please," Emily asked him gently.

"Others, others, lots of others. There are those that whisper, and those that shout. I don't like the ones that shout. They're ever so hard to talk over. I try not to pay them any attention. To pay them attention would be to acknowledge that they exist, and that would be bad. Very bad."

"Why would that be bad?" Susannah asked softly.

Roland stalked across the room and sat in a chair against the wall after Susannah's question, still disgusted with the whole conversation, but not bothering to comment on it any longer. Their time with Sands would be up soon anyway. He'd let them play out whatever fucking little game Sands was playing for now. But sooner or later he would cut through the fucking bullshit. Other personalities? Please. The guy might have a few fucking screws loose-you fucking had to to have killed as many people as he had-but it was nothing more than that. Sands was a killer and con artist. And not even a very good one, at that. Roland could see through his tricks. And he would make the other see through them as well.

"Don't ask questions to which you already know the answers," Jeffrey said with an irritated frown in Susannah's direction. "You're good at that; asking questions. Is that all you do?"

"Pretty much," Susannah said wryly. "Never seem to get the answers I want though," she muttered under her breath.

"Questions, questions, who's got a question? I've got questions, she's got questions, everyone's got questions. No answers, only questions. No resolution, only conflict. Conflict and discontent. 'Now is the winter of our discontent,'" he murmured, slumping back on the bed a little. "Have to fly. Can't go home but you can't stay here. I don't want to be here. Here isn't home. Home is where the heart is and I left mine in San Francisco. Never been there, but that must be where I left it because it's not here, right? Right?"

No one had an answer for that one.

WWW

Sands floated through the ether of nothingness and never wanted to return. The world was garish and bright and dangerous, and here he was safe and warm and without worry or fear. Here he was whole. Out there he was fragmented; insane and unable to get better. Out there he was a murder who had been caught and would be made to pay for his crimes. _My crimes…how many people have I killed now? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? This is all that bastard Jeffrey's fault. If he hadn't shown up I would have been fine. I would have been free. I wouldn't have to be here. _He wasn't even entirely sure where _here_ was exactly; he just knew he was no longer in the world of the conscious and sane.

Sands looked over the world he had built up around himself with a discerning eye, taking in each and every detail from the thick Persian rugs under his feet to the warmly lit walls surrounding him covered in expensive pieces of art. If he were being honest with himself, the construct he had built up around him within his mind was a near exact replica of the mansion he had grown up in, save the presence of another living soul. He didn't let that bother him. He didn't allow reality to slip in in the form of one of his parents, or fire-blackened walls either. This was his world. His refuge, his safety. And yet, the walls were slowly crumbling down around him. He had been fucking besieged by that goddamned voice inside his head. Jeffrey was at the front gate with a battering ram, and he wouldn't give up until he had gotten through the front door and dragged Sands out into the real world again. _Fuck him. I like it here. He wanted control? Will he can fucking have it. I don't want it. Control out there right now is a fucking joke. _

Sands knew what was happening out there. He knew that Jeffrey had gotten himself fucking shot, caught, and drugged into near oblivion. That was another thing. As soon as Sands left the safety of his sanctuary, the drugs would affect him too. He would be just as lost as Jeffrey was right now, and t hat was unacceptable. One of them had to have a clear head if they wanted to get out of here. _Wait, do I want to get out of here? Didn't I just want it to end before? Wasn't that why I left? _He couldn't really remember. After leaving that woman's place, everything was pretty much a blur. He vaguely remembered bits and pieces-the phone ringing, walking to the train station-but nothing more than incomplete scenes in an already confusing play with too many characters. Unfortunately, as soon as he had thought of the image of a ringing phone, one appeared before him and began ringing incessantly almost immediately. Sands just stared at with irritation, his eyes going over the old-fashioned spin-dial, the spiraled cord that connected the parts of the phone, the nondescript colour.

He didn't want to answer it-he had a good idea of who it was on the other end and he didn't want to talk to him-but ignoring a ringing phone, especially one right in front of you, was something he had never been able to do. He just _couldn't. _It was one of his…quirks, he guessed. Even so, he tried valiantly to ignore it even as his hand was moving forward to pick it up off its cradle. _Anything to stop that fucking ringing!_

"Hello?" he asked slowly, prepared to move the phone away from his ear should the caller grow hysterical. He moved it away almost immediately.

"What the fuck are you doing in there you fucking pansy! I fucking need your help and you're just sitting in here in your fucking little house like a fucking child! Do you fucking understand what's fucking happening out here? We're fucking caught! They're going to fucking execute us, Sands! Get your ass out here and help me get the fuck out of the place!" Jeffrey shouted, his voice surprisingly clear and collected despite his desperation and the drugs running through their body.

"Who fucking cares if they execute us? I don't. It's better than the fucking alternative," Sands muttered into the phone.

"I fucking care! There is no goddamned way I am going to let these ignorant bastards win! No goddamned way!" Jeffrey seethed.

"What would you do even if you escaped, Jeffrey? They're fucking after you everywhere. And they're not going to stop. Ever. There are some things that fucking cops just can't get past, and the murder of lots and lots of fucking people is one of them. They're never going to stop looking for you."

"I wouldn't have gotten fucking caught in the first place if you hadn't decided to go all psycho on me, you careless bastard! This is all your fucking fault!" Jeffrey shouted.

"_My _fault?! Excuse me, but before _you_ fucking showed up, how many people had I killed? None. You want to start pointing fingers, you'd better take a fucking look at yourself, _Jeffrey._"

"You fucking killed your parents with no help from me. In fact, if it wasn't for me, you would have fucking died with them!"

"They don't fucking count!" Sands responded petulantly. "And you didn't fucking do anything. You didn't even exist then. I got _myself _you. Not you. You didn't do anything."

"Bullshit! You were sitting there like the little mama's boy you are outside their fucking room, listening to them fucking scream. You wanted to hear them fucking burn, didn't you, you bastard? Well you got your fucking wish. How did it feel? I hope it was fucking worth it, because you very nearly fucking burned along with them. _I_ got you out. Me. Not you. You didn't do jack shit."

"Fuck you! You've brought me nothing but trouble since you fucking showed up, you sick bastard! Fine, I've fucking killed, but who was the one that decided to have their fun with the corpse first? Not me. Who stabbed her a fucking few dozen times? It takes a special kind of psychotic to keep stabbing someone long after they're dead. But oh, that wasn't all. What happened to her eyes, Jeffrey? Why did you take them? What did you do with them?"

"I didn't like the way she was fucking looking at me!" Jeffrey shouted. "She deserved to fucking die! She fucking woke me up in the middle of the night while you were still fucking asleep, the fucking slut. She was all hands and mouth, moaning your name. _Your name._ Not mine. I got a little fucking pissed off at that so I fucking killed her." His voice was filled with wicked humor. "And I let her have her fun while doing it. Can you imagine? The feel of a warm wave of blood washing over your body as you're fucking and killing someone at the same time? It was the single most erotic experience of my life."

"You make me fucking sick," Sands spat out into the phone.

"Oh, is that right? _I_ make you sick? Well, I've got news for you, you bastard. I came from you! I am a fucking part of you, as much as I might want to deny it sometimes. Everything I do, everything I am is a fucking reflection of you! So who's the fucking sick one now?"

"You, you, always you," Sands said without hesitation. "I'm not like you! I never was!"

"Just how many people have you killed, Sands? Do you even know? You've fucking killed more than me. If I didn't know that I could eventually take over that number and pass it I might be fucking pissed off at you," he said dryly. "Now are you going to fucking come out of there or am I going to have to break the fucking door down? It's your choice, you cowardly bastard. One way or another you're coming out of there, either by your own will or by mine. Personally, I'd prefer to do it my way, but I'll leave it up to you for…5 more seconds."

"Fuck you," Sands grunted into the phone with a scowl.

"Three more seconds," was Jeffrey's only reply.

"You're not going to fucking do any—" Sands was cut off by the sound of the door being broken down and the real world flooding in before he could stop it.

WWW

"--thing," Sands finished with a confused frown, taking in his surroundings. He seemed to be in a white room, laying on something flat, while people watched him. "Oh fuck. Real. Everything's real," he muttered, giving his head a brief shake in a vain attempt to clear out some of the drugged confusion he was feeling.

"One big happy family again," Jeffrey muttered.

"What the fuck just happened?" Roland asked suddenly. In the time it had taken for Jeffrey to retrieve Sands, the three CIA agents had seen quite a disturbing display. First, Jeffrey had closed his eyes and gone as still as if he had just keeled over and died. Then came the series of violent convulsions that had them all half running out the door to call someone, anyone, before they had stopped as suddenly as they had began. And now they were acting like nothing had happened.

"Sands decided to join the party. Bring the kiddies and enjoy the show! Say hi, Sands," Jeffrey murmured blankly.

"Caught. Fucking caught. All your fault, you bastard," Sands hissed to Jeffrey, nearly insensible with rage while Jeffrey seemed to not have a care in the world.

"I was behind the gun but I did not pull the trigger," was all Jeffrey had to say in response. "Oh! Did I tell you? We made a record! We should have a party! Where's my cake?"

"No more drugs for you," Sands murmured in response, still scowling at Jeffrey. His head still felt like it was on a fucking merry-go-round turning at supersonic speeds, but he wasn't as affected by the drugs as Jeffrey was. He wondered if there might be something to that. "Shot and caught. _You_ fucking did that. Not me."

"Shot and caught, caught and shot," Jeffrey chanted, Sands' scowl miraculously changing into a manic grin and he Jeffrey spoke. The grin shifted back into a scowl in the instant Sands took over and turned to address his audience.

"Well look who it is," he drawled coldly, looking over the faces of the gathered CIA agents and wanting more than anything to rip each of them to shreds. Rage licked through him like tongues of fire and he pulled at his bonds. All of the rage that Jeffrey was currently unable to feel seemed to have funneled itself into Sands so that he was practically shaking with it as Jeffrey rambled on; oblivious.

"Sands?" Susannah queried cautiously before taking a step back as Sands turned his gaze on her, his eyes black with fury.

"Give the little bitch a kewpie doll," he hissed at her, his struggles against the restraints that held he and Jeffrey fast to the bed even more. His chest ached from the still tender bullet wound, but he paid it no mind. He was far too gone with anger too feel any pain now.

Susannah watched Sands pull at his restraints like a dog running against the length of its chain with something like grim fascination. The change from Jeffrey to Sands right before her eyes was nothing short of astonishing. Whatever doubts she had about the source of his insanity-and she was able to admit to herself now that she hadn't fully believed that he and Jeffrey were indeed two persons-vanished.

"Two persons; one body," Emily whispered, startling Susannah almost as if she had been listening in on her thoughts. The two women shared a glance and both of them took an unconscious and simultaneous step backward almost as if rehearsed. Roland on the other hand took a step closer, heedless of the dangerous man before him.

"And the true bastard finally shows its face," he sneered, looking down at the hissing and spitting man beneath him. "Does this mean you've finally decided to give up the fucking charade? Because honestly, I'm getting bored with it," Roland said with a slight frown, his hand absently reaching for the gun on his hip at a particularly violent reaction from Sands before it fell back to his side and he cursed himself for his jumpiness. There was nothing Sands could do to him. The only weapons he had at his disposal right now were his tongue and his wit. And Roland didn't think much of either of them.

"I'm going to fucking tear your head off and shove it back down your neck you piece of arrogant shit. And what I did to that darling cunt of yours Yvette will seem like child's play when I get out of here. And I will get out of here," Sands promised darkly, his eyes going black as chips of obsidian in his rage.

Roland's blood boiled, but he held back. He would just be letting this fucking bastard in front of him win if he struck him now, and such an action would only get his ass tossed out onto the pavement by Dr. Harrington anyway, so he kept a rein on his temper. Barely. "You're not going to get out, Sands. You're caught and there will be no escape, you fucking son of a bitch," Roland said evenly.

"There's always escape, my dear Roland. You just have to wait for the opportune moment," Sands said, a cold smile on his face as he looked over the room's occupants. He _would_ escape. He could find it in himself to be patient if the situation warranted it. He would bide his time; make them believe he was cowed and harmless, and then he would strike. He was tired of pretending he was something he wasn't. He was tired of everyone looking at him without the fear that should have been chilling their bones. He was a killer; pure and simple. It was what he had been born to do and it was time the world started remembering that.

TBC

A/N: So sorry this took longer than I wanted to get posted! School started and robbed me of a good chunk of my writing time. I promise, however, that I will still keep writing the new chapters and trying my very best to post them within a week or so's time. Thank you for sticking with me. You guys are the best.


	18. There's Someone in My Head Part I

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland, Emily, Susannah and all others own me. I would never even attempt to claim otherwise.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Roland, Emily and Susannah pretty much ran off without me in this chapter. I hope you like their scenes. And Dr. Harrington is just plain Trouble.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Eighteen: There's Someone in My Head… Part I

"You lock the door and throw away the key, there's someone in my head, but it's not me."

-Brain Damage by Pink Floyd.

_These people are trying to thwart my work!_ Dr. Harrington thought irritably, once more injecting Mr. Sands with something to calm him down from the frenzied state the trio of CIA agents had left him in. She wouldn't be able to give him another dosage until this one wore off, however. Anything more could potentially put him into a coma. Dr. Harrington wasn't out to kill or injure patients-unless of course it was deemed necessary-she was out to save them; to _rehabilitate_ them. She was of the belief that any person could be rehabilitated. It may take weeks, months or even years to reach that point, but it could be reached. And she would find that point with Mr. Sands if it took the rest of her career.

"You're time with Mr. Sands is through. You may come back tomorrow between the hours of 1 and 3. Now I must ask you to leave," she told the three CIA agents firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She had the power to bar them from further visits with her patient without extreme supervision and they knew it. Their time spent with him was a privilege, not a right.

The one named Roland looked as if he wanted to argue, but the two women at his sides-both of them probably fucking him if Dr. Harrington's intuition was correct-held him back. Then the pretty brunette spoke.

"Thank you for your patience, Dr. Harrington," Susannah said smoothly. "We will come back tomorrow during the times you specified."

"What? Don't leave, everyone always leaves me," Jeffrey called out mournfully. "Is there a jet plane involved?" he asked curiously.

"No, there isn't a fucking jet plane involved, you idiot. They're being kicked out by Dr. Dominatrix here. They'll be back tomorrow," Sands said with a scowl.

"Oh good. We know when they'll be back again, then? Visiting hours are very important. Wouldn't want to get caught out past curfew. That would never do. They lock you up if you do that. Is that why they locked us up, Sands? Were we out past curfew?"

"Yes, we are horrible, evil, wicked curfew breakers. They'll probably execute us just for that alone," Sands said with a roll of his eyes.

"They're mean to you here. I want to go back to DC," Jeffrey said plaintively. "No curfew then to lock us up and throw away the key there. Or did they lock us up and throw away the room? They can do that, you know," Jeffrey said with wide eyes and a quick nod of his head.

"You _are_ in DC," Susannah said softly. The three CIA agents and the doctor had been watching the exchange between the two men with various looks of concern on their faces. Susannah herself was at one end of the spectrum, with Emily in the middle and Roland and Dr. Harrington holding up the other end.

"Land of the free, home of the brave," Sands muttered under his breath, his dark eyes flashing to Susannah, clearly filled with hate.

"But if we're home, then why are we stuck here? Home is on the range and this isn't a range," he said as he frantically looked around the room, tugging at his restraints for a few minutes then stopping as if he couldn't keep his focus on the task. He winced as the movement pulled at the healing gunshot wound to his chest. "Put down? Can this horse not ride anymore? I like being ridden," he drawled, giving Emily and Susannah a pointed look. "But they're not little cowgirls. You can tell. No spurs."

"They're fucking CIA agents! They're the ones who put you in this place you stupid son of a bitch," Sands reminded Jeffrey coldly.

"Why would they want to do that? And stop vituperating me. Why are you so angry? You need music. Music soothes savage beasts. Are you savage? No, you aren't really. _I'm_ the savage one. You said so yourself. You just kill. You don't have the fun that I do. And it _is_ fun, Sands. So much fun. Parties every day, see the children play."

"Until you've killed them," Sands muttered under his breath.

"Never killed a child before. You've killed _as_ a child, but never a child. Is it the same? Like killing a really short adult? Do you know….Emily?" he asked suddenly before laughing delightedly. "'See Emily Play.' Do you play, Emily? 'When I was a child, I talked as a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me." He laughed again manically.

"Where is_ that_ from?" Sands asked with a scowl. "You aren't making a whole lot of sense, Jeffrey. Did you know that?"

"Your head, not mine. I just use what's there," Jeffrey said with a wide grin, sounding almost lucid for a moment. That was, until he spoke again. "Am I a thought inside your head? I think therefore I am? Is that what you did? That was a good trick. You deserve a treat."

"You can take the fucking treat and shove it up your ass," Sands growled at him.

"Well that wasn't very kind, now was it? I think he needs a nap. He's very grouchy." Jeffrey's comment seemed to galvanize Dr. Harrington into action.

"It's time for you to leave," she addressed the CIA agents firmly. "Mr. Sands needs his rest." Her tone brooked no argument. The three CIA agents left the hospital room in a triangular formation with Roland taking point and grumbling to himself about pushy fucking doctors the whole way.

WWW

"Did you recover Yvette's body?" Susannah asked her two coworkers softly as they drove away from the hospital.

Roland nodded, not saying a word and Emily turned in her seat to address Susannah in the back. "Be glad you weren't there to see it, Sus. It was…horrible."

"The bastard fucking mutilated her," Roland ground out, keeping his eyes fixed on the road as he spoke.

"We have to go to the coroner's office later today for his report, but Roland's right. There was…nothing left of her," Emily said with a curiously blank look on her face.

"We should make some calls about that other woman Sands mentioned…Halia. We could probably trace her address through her gun registration. I'll call the Maryland PD later today." She continued asking Roland and Emily questions about finding Yvette's body and was glad to see that the animosity that had been between them seemed to have vanished. There was still an awkwardness in their relationship-as to be expected given the circumstances-but at least they weren't at each others throats any longer. _No, now they're just in each other's pants. _She thought wryly.

She didn't really know what to think about the relationship that had been developed between her two co-workers. _Not developed, rekindled. _She vaguely wondered where Roland's wife Eileen played into all of this, before deciding she felt bad for the woman she had only met a few times. _And isn't she home sick? Wasn't that the reason Roland had taken Yvette to the company dinner and meetings in the first place? _Fate was sick and twisted sometimes. She also vaguely remembered Emily mentioning a boyfriend…Zach…who she had met in a department store of all places near her apartment. Susannah wondered if Emily had even stopped to think about him as she had been forming this relationship with Roland. _Probably not, knowing her._

Susannah had never approved of relationships between co-workers. Especially in the CIA. She wasn't against dating in general, she had had a few boyfriends herself but had been ultimately disappointed by each, but dating a co-worker, especially when you were working on the same case, tended to be distracting for both parties. Susannah had already had to break up more than a few fights between the two of them when they still hated each other. She would_ not_ break up intimate moments between them in an attempt to get back to work. That was neither her business nor her job. She only hoped they had the combined common sense to keep their thoughts out of their pants and onto the case until this whole nightmarish mess was over and Sands was either incarcerated or sentenced to death. Then they could do whatever the hell they wanted on their own time and it wouldn't affect anyone else save for Roland's wife and Emily's boyfriend.

_When this is all over, I'm going to take a long vacation._ She promised herself with a sigh as she leaned back in the seat a little. She couldn't remember the last time she had been away, and she knew that if a CIA agent-or a member from any type of law enforcement really-didn't take a break every once and awhile, they would become burnt out and no longer able to do their job properly. Susannah didn't want that to happen to her. She had fought too long and hard to get into the CIA to be forced to leave for a stupid reason like that. No, she would take a vacation somewhere far, far away from her well-meaning but ultimately aggravating fellow officers and stay until she no longer had a care in the world besides staying out in the sun too long and what to wear to the party in the evening. Only after she had reached that point would she return. She could almost hear the waves crashing against the surf of some sandy beach in a remote location that only she knew about.

"Sus? Are you alright? I've been calling your name for the last minute," Emily's voice cut into her thoughts, and the sounds of the city replaced the sounds of her private beach once more.

"What? I'm sorry. I guess I got a little lost in my thoughts there for a second. What was your question?" Susannah asked, leaning forward a little to hear Emily better.

"Maybe you need to get some rest. If you can't think straight any longer, how are you going to be able to concentrate on the case?" Emily asked with a concerned frown.

_Yeah, like you're one to talk, missy._ Susannah thought dryly. "No, I'm alright. I've just been thinking, that's all. Now what was your question?" she prompted again.

"She asked you if you'd like to go back to the hotel or somewhere else," Roland put in, glancing in the rearview mirror to Susannah's form briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

"Oh. No, the hotel will be fine. Give my room a call when we're supposed to go down to the coroner's," Susannah said with a slight nod.

"Are you going to be there?" Roland asked casually.

Susannah fought not to scowl at him. "Yes, I will."_ Are you?_

"Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight; the three of us. I think we could all use a break," Emily piped up in as cheerful a voice as she could muster right now.

Susannah almost appreciated the effort, but it seemed somehow callous to be going out and having fun after looking at your best friend's dead body and talking at length with her killer. Susannah didn't mention it though. "Yes, I think I would like that. You're right about the needing of a break," she admitted. Emily nodded her approval and the three of them sat in companionable silence for the rest of the trip back to the hotel.

WWW

Sands was slowly but surely losing his mind. With only a doped to the gills second personality to talk to, life was never dull granted, but it wasn't good for one's mental health either. "Why don't the drugs affect me?" he asked again for what must have been the tenth time since the CIA agents had left.

"Questions, questions everyone's got questions only nobody has answers," was Jeffrey's only response.

"Thanks for the help," Sands muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Help. We need help. 'He helps those who help themselves. Is he going to help us?"

"I wouldn't count on it. But you're right. We need to help ourselves. We've got to get the fuck out of here before that bitch doctor comes back," Sands muttered with a furtive glance toward the closed door of his room/cell.

"She's broken. Lost. Has she been fixed and found yet? I don't like her when she's broken. She doesn't say the right words any more," Jeffrey said with a sad shake of his head.

"She'll be _fixed_ soon. Don't worry," Sands assured him darkly.

"Oh good," Jeffrey said with a relieved smile.

Sands frowned with a curious look on his face. "Do you know what I mean by that, Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey nodded enthusiastically. "You're going to fix her so she won't be broken. Broken toys are of no use and must be thrown away."

"That's…right. I think," Sands said with a slow shake of his head. "We've got to get you off of all these drugs."

"This is your brain on drugs. Sizzle, sizzle. Any questions?" Jeffrey asked with a manic grin.

"Where the hell are you getting all of this shit from? I didn't even know you fucking watched television?" Sands asked exasperatedly.

"Television. The boob tube. The idiot box. I don't watch it. I watch _you_."

"Well that explains everything, thank you," Sands said dryly.

"You're welcome," Jeffrey replied cheerfully.

"I have _got_ to get out of this fucking nuthouse," Sands whispered desperately.

WWW

Dr. Harrington sat at the security desk and watched her patient, Mr. Sands, on the monitor. Installing security cameras in each of the rooms had been one of the first renovations made to the old wing of the hospital building. "He's talking to himself and he doesn't seem to be relaxing at all," she murmured under her breath as she leaned back in her chair and watched the screen avidly. "That means the medications aren't working. That simply will not do." She made a note to change the dosage of the mixture of anti-psychotics and sedatives she was currently giving him. She hadn't wanted to give him so much that he was unresponsive to the world around him, but he was leaving her with no other options.

She sighed and leaned back in the chair, steepling her fingers and still watching her patient with a frown slowly forming on her face as she did so. It was hard to tell exactly was what was going on in the little black and white monitor, but it looked as if he were pulling at his restraints again. "He's going to have to learn that his place is here. With us," she murmured under her breath.

"Excuse me, doctor?" the chief security guard asked her suddenly, having heard her mumbled comment. He cast a glance to what she was looking. "So, is that him? The psycho? They're saying that little man killed something like 30 people in the last week. Is that true? He doesn't look like much to me. The papers are calling him the 'million dollar murderer.' You know, on account of the fact that's he's filthy rich or something like that. Some guys have all the luck you know? There's something definitely not right about that."

"I don't appreciate that term, officer," Dr. Harrington said evenly.

"What? The 'million dollar murderer?' I didn't make it up. The press did, doctor."

"No. Psycho." Her voice was cool now. "That's not a term I like to use in reference to my patients, officer. Mr. Sands is just a confused man who needs help like the rest of us. Nothing more, nothing less. And we well help him, won't we, officer?"

"Uh, yes doctor. Of course, doctor," the officer said turning away so she couldn't see him and blowing out a sigh with an expression on his face that said he considered her to be just as loony as the rest of the 'patients' she kept in this place. "Well…I should be getting back to work, uh, Dr. Harrington. If you need anything else, I'll have my radio with me all day."

Dr. Harrington nodded. "Thank you for your time. I'm sure we'll be speaking again later today."

"I…look forward to it," the officer said hesitantly. "Until then, doctor."

Dr. Harrington nodded and turned on a heel to head back to her wing of the hospital. Her patients needed her.

WWW

"I don't need you right now. Why won't you just leave me alone? Just…go back to sleep or whatever it is you do when you're not around," Sands grumbled under his breath.

"You need me. Always have. No want. Only need. Need, need, need. Need to blame. Need to talk. Need to save. Need," Jeffrey said with a solemn nod.

"Why?" Sands asked with a deep frown. He didn't like the notion of needing anyone, especially not a psychopathic voice in his head.

"Balance. You have to keep the balance. One on each side. More will tip the scale. Have to get rid of the others."

"Others? Scale? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Jeffrey clicked his tongue at that. "You should know. Your head, not mine."

Sands didn't want to think about the possibility of there being more people inside his head than just Jeffrey, so he didn't. It was much better for his so-called mental health that way.

WWW

The three federal agents made their way into the coroner's office with the somberness of a funeral procession, for that was what this little trip boiled down to; funerals and death.

Dr. Norris moved out from behind a desk and walked over to them. "Officers Rivers and Brisbane. Good to see you again despite the circumstances." He turned to Susannah. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. I am Dr. Theodore Norris. I was the one who did the autopsy on Ms. St. Martin there. I'd offer to shake your hand, but…" He held up a hand that was covered in a blood-stained glove.

"I am Agent Susannah Cartwright. I work with Officers Rivers and Brisbane. I was also acquainted with Ms. St. Martin," Susannah said softly.

"Then, I am very sorry for your loss. The same to both of you," he nodded towards Roland and Emily. "I'll assume you'll want me to hurry this along so you can get out of here, correct? I know I'd want to if I were in your position."

"Thank you," Susannah said with a small nod.

"Think nothing of it. Most people think that ME's and coroner's can be a bit cavalier about death, and while this is true, we still care." He moved back behind his desk, dutifully not drawing attention to the sheet covered body in the middle of the room which Susannah appreciated. "The cause of death was not the extreme facial lacerations but exsanguination."

"She bled to death?" Emily asked, trying to sound casual but with a clear tremor in her voice as she spoke.

"That is correct," Dr. Norris said with a nod.

"Tell me doctor, that she wasn't still alive when all of this happened to her." _Please tell me that._ Roland asked him.

Dr. Norris hesitated and cast a glance down to his notes. "About half of the wounds we found were indeed post-mortem, yes. Many of the stab wounds for instance were post-mortem, but not all."

"He kept stabbing her even after she was already dead. Jesus fucking Christ," Emily murmured under her breath.

"What about…her eyes?" Roland asked again. _Dear god let her have been dead for that._

Dr. Norris hesitated just long enough for a sick feeling to develop in the pit of Roland's stomach. "The facial lacerations occurred pre-mortem."

"That's…that's not possible. Surely someone would have heard her screaming if that was what happened," Susannah insisted in a quavering voice.

"Were any drugs found in her system?" Emily asked.

Dr. Norris shook his head. "The toxicology report was clean. Although, we did find bruising around her mouth indicative of extreme pressure applied."

"He held a hand over her mouth as she screamed," Roland said distantly.

"That would be a safe guess," Dr. Norrington said softly.

WWW

Emily and Susannah watched as Roland paced across the hotel room, neither of them saying a word. There were no words now.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Roland spoke up suddenly, apparently having some words left after all.

"No, you're not. Don't be fucking stupid. You're going to leave him alone and let the law deal with him, Roland," Emily said firmly. "Otherwise you'll end up in the cell next to him for murder."

"Let the _law_ deal with him? Be realistic, Emily. The _law_ will either lock him up for the rest of his fucking life or throw him into an institution somewhere. DC doesn't have a fucking death penalty. Did you know that? I checked," he said bitterly.

"Maryland has one," Emily responded with a smug look.

"We're not _in_ fucking Maryland, Emily," Roland said with a scowl. "And even if he gets the fucking death penalty for those people he killed there, he'll still get away with it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?! If he gets the death penalty, he doesn't get away with _anything!_" Emily shouted.

"He gets away with everything he did _here!_" Roland shouted before turning on a heel and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"God, I hate that stupid son of a bitch!" Emily yelled to the room in general upon Roland's leaving.

"No, you don't. Now just shut up for awhile. I'm going to go talk to him and you're going to stay here. Do you understand?" Susannah told her in a firm voice.

"Whatever. I don't care. He can run off and kill Sands and get his ass thrown in jail for all I care, the stupid bastard," Emily said bitterly.

"You don't mean that and you know it. Now we _are_ going to have dinner tonight. All three of us, and you two are going to work all this shit out between you. No arguments." With that, Susannah left to find Roland. She would get things settled between the two of them if it killed her.

WWW

The dinner atmosphere between the three CIA agents was strained to say the least. Emily and Roland were dutifully not talking about anything but business with each other, and Susannah felt like she was caught in the middle while her parents fought. Conversations were stilted and the awkward silences grew longer and longer as time went on.

"Ok, that's it I've had enough," Susannah said suddenly, setting her fork down on her plate with a loud rattle. "You two are acting like children and the sexual tension between you is so think I can almost see it so why don't you save yourselves _and me_ more headaches by just running off and having a nice, long fuck. Get it out of your systems before I lock you in a room together."

They were both taken aback, which both irritated and amused Susannah greatly. She had always played the quiet little mouse to Emily's wildcat, but now was the time to show them that even mice could bite back when pressed.

"It's none of your fucking business what I do or don't do in my private life, Agent Cartwright," Roland said, his blue eyes going icy. Susannah didn't stand for it.

"Oh give me a fucking break. Everyone in the fucking CIA probably knows about your affairs. You're life has never been private, Roland. And Emily, no offense, but you aren't exactly a blushing virgin either."

Emily shrugged, not denying what she knew to be true.

"For Christ's' sake. You two have been at each other's throats for as long as I've known either of you, and that tells me something. I don't know, nor do I _want_ to know what happened between you two during training, but it's obvious to anyone with even _half_ a brain that you're not over each other yet. Maybe you never will be. Maybe you'll live happily ever after and have a dozen fat children. Who knows? I don't. All I know is that I am tired of all the shit between you two, so either work it out or kill each other because I honestly don't care anymore." She threw her napkin to the table in a huff and rose from her seat.

"Where are you going, Susannah?" Emily asked in a soft voice, not looking at Roland who was not looking at her either.

"I'm going back to the hospital to talk to Sands some more. I don't care what that doctor of his said about visiting hours. I figure if I can't do anything more for you two then I may as well try and do some more for his victims. Like you should be," she said evenly.

"We'll go with you," Roland said, sounding uncharacteristically cowed.

Susannah hesitated before nodding. "Fine. But the _instant_ you start tearing at each other's throats again, I'm sending you both back to the hotel. Do you understand what I'm telling to you? To the both of you?" Emily and Roland nodded. "Then let's get out of here."

WWW

They arrived on a war zone. Members of the hospital staff were moving about like ants in a stirred anthill and no one was telling them anything. As the trio of federal agents moved down the halls they could see more and more that doors were being locked on the rooms.

"What in the fuck is going on here?" Roland asked, turning his head back and forth to watch people running about as if their tails were lit on fire.

"I don't know, but I don't like it. Something's scared these people," Emily paused, her face losing color. "You don't think?"

"I don't know what to think but I'm certainly in a hurry to get to Sands' room now," Roland said, breaking into a run with the two female agents close on his heels.

They were intercepted at the door of Sands' room-conspicuously free of its armed guards-by an irate looking Dr. Harrington who fixed them with a glare as if they were the sole cause for everything wrong and evil in the world. "You three! This whole situation is all your fault! If you hadn't antagonized him during your visit, none of this would be happening! I am going to inform the proper authorities immediately for your gross misconduct. Anything else that happens here tonight will be on your head. Not mine."

"You're going to shut the hell up and tell us _exactly_ what happened right now," Roland said firmly, letting Dr. Harrington's affronted gasp roll over his back like water. "Tell me straight. Sands escaped, didn't he?"

Dr. Harrington glowered for a few more minutes before speaking in even tones. "Yes, he did. He's somewhere in the building right now."

WWW

"Where are you going? We can't run free, you know. They hold all the keys to all the locks. Caged. Trapped with no sky above. Can you see the stars?"

"No, Jeffrey I can't see the fucking stars. Just shut up for awhile and let me think. We've got to fucking get out of here," Sands whispered desperately, casting his eyes around the empty room he was in. He was about to make a move across the hall into another room, edging his way nearer and nearer to what he hoped was the exit, when Jeffrey interrupted suddenly and loudly in the quiet room, causing him to jump.

"We're leaking life and death all mixed together. Death creates life and life creates death. All the same. Unending," Jeffrey said slowly.

"Fucking Christ, Jeffrey! Just shut the fuck up!" Sands hissed at him.

"Life is important though. So is death. Which is more so? I bring death as do you. Do our victims bring life?" Jeffrey held up his left hand for Sands to see. His fingertips were covered in blood.

"Is that what you're fucking going on about? Your fingers are covered in blood. So fucking what? So are mine," he showed Jeffrey his bloodied hand still gripping the blood streaked scalpel he had used in his escape tightly.

Jeffrey gave him a look that told Sands he thought he was a complete moron and jabbed a finger at the weeping wrapped bullet wound on their chest. After Sands' hiss of pain, Jeffrey continued. "This is my blood. It is _very_ important. Not shed for you. Only for vampires. They appreciate it," Jeffrey said with a nod. "This hospital's full of them. Lurking in corners. Fangs sharp and gleaming. I want fangs. Stuck with cow's teeth."

"Aw fuck," Sands muttered, looking down at the red spot that was beginning to bleed through to the breezy hospital gown he had been running around in. He hadn't even noticed that the stitches he had gotten had broken open and he probably wouldn't have if Jeffrey hadn't said something. It didn't hurt. He was too full of adrenalin for minor things like pain from aggravated gunshot wounds to be a problem. "It doesn't matter. We'll get this taken care of when we can. But right now we have to get out of this fucking hospital."

"They have mechanics here, you know. For blood. Special tools to keep it all in so it's not lost."

"Blood…mechanics? Oh, you mean doctors. Yeah, I suppose they do. We could take one hostage, I guess. Have them fix us up," Sands said with a slight shrug. "Maybe they could even be our ticket out of here."

"Just don't lose him when you find him. Not a set of car keys. Won't fit in pockets. Too small."

"I wonder whatever happened to the Jag," Sands muttered with a frown. "I liked that fucking car."

"Did you check your pockets?"

Sands looked down to his definite _lack_ of anything even resembling a pocket in his hospital gown and frowned. "Dammit, we've got to get some clothes."

"And a mechanic."

"Yes, and a…mechanic," Sands murmured before setting off again, not letting his sore and bleeding chest bother him. He had more important things to deal with right now.

WWW

"How did this happen? He was restrained and drugged for fuck's sake!" Roland yelled at the clearly flustered doctor in front of him.

"He faked a seizure and managed to threaten the nurse who checked on him into letting him go. She's dead now," Dr. Harrington said evenly. "I don't know how he got her to do that, but it doesn't matter now, does it? A woman and two guards are dead because of you and my patient is at loose in the hospital as we stand here speaking about it."

"I don't have time for that bullshit. If your nurse is dead it's only due to her own stupidity and your incompetence as a doctor. He was supposed to be drugged, doctor! _You _got those people killed. Not me."

"How _dare_ you insinuate that I had anything to do with this," Dr. Harrington said icily. "It was you and your _women_ who agitated Mr. Sands into escaping in the first place. I don't have to take this from you and what's more, I won't. I've got more important things to do that to deal with the likes of you." With a sneer in Roland's direction, she turned and walked down the hall, her heeled shoes clacking loudly on the tile as she walked.

Roland would have chased after her and likely strangled her had it not been for Emily and Susannah's restraining grips on his arms. "That arrogant, cock-sucking bitch! This is all her fucking fault and she knows it!" Roland yelled down the hall loudly enough for Dr. Harrington to have heard.

"Roland! We've got more important things to worry about! Sands has fucking escaped!" Emily tried to reason with him. Roland immediately calmed as much as he was able at the sound of her voice and turned his head in her direction. "Fuck. You're right. I'm fine, alright! You can let go of me now." The two female agents exchanged a brief glance, but did as he asked. "We'll have to coordinate this with hospital security. We won't be able to search the whole fucking place on our own."

"We should split up. Cover more ground," Susannah suggested.

"Fine. But no one travels alone, understand? This bastard is armed and dangerous as I know you're aware, so be careful alright? No one else is lost." Roland said firmly.

Emily and Susannah nodded and they all moved to find their partners so they could get the manhunt started.

TBC

A/N: This chapter got a little…long. You can thank Neon Daises for that. She's a good motivator. To all of you who have reviewed thus far, you have my never-ending thanks and gratitude. This story is for all of you.


	19. …But It’s Not Me Part II

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Wow, this chapter got…long. I had planned a lot in this chapter but it sort of mutated on its own. That's normal, right?

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery, sexual situations and language.

Chapter Nineteen: …But It's Not Me Part II

You lock the door and throw away the key, there's someone in my head, but it's not me.

-Brain Damage by Pink Floyd.

"Have you found a mechanic yet? Time is of the essence. Time is ticking away. Time is not on our side," Jeffrey murmured as he and Sands moved stealthily through the halls of the hospital. Or, it would have been stealthily if Jeffrey could shut up for more than two minutes. "Not my fault, can't seem to help it. Chatter, chatter away. Saying everything, meaning nothing," Jeffrey murmured as if he had sensed Sands' irritation and impatience. Perhaps he had.

"How long are these fucking drugs supposed to last anyway?" Sands muttered to himself as he doubled over a little and leaned against the wall, trying to calm his racing heart and quickened breath as pain continued to lance through his abdomen. "They should have at least given me a few days to heal before presenting an opportunity to escape. That was rude of them." He then suddenly realised that he was the one making all the noise now and shut his mouth with a click of his teeth and a mental curse.

Jeffrey let out a short giggle at Sands' forgetfulness which only made Sands scowl. "Wasn't you, wasn't I, nine-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie," Jeffrey said solemnly.

"Right. Sure," Sands said with an annoyed frown and a shake of his head. "Just go back to being quiet. Do you think you can do that?"

"As the grave. As a church mouse. I'll be golden," Jeffrey said with a quick nod. Sands just sighed in response and together they made their way through the hallways of the hospital, desperately trying to find a bit of sanctuary where they could find a doctor and get their wounds tended to. And maybe get the hell out of this fucking place. That certainly would have been appreciated as well.

WWW

"Just who does that bitch think she is?" Roland muttered as he glared at Dr. Harrington's retreating form. He had just been informed that he was to take Sands alive. No exceptions. _What the fuck kind authority does she have to tell me what to do?_ Unfortunately, she had a lot. Despite the fact that Sands had killed an employee of the CIA within the US, the CIA didn't really have jurisdiction to intervene. While the local law enforcement agencies knew this and had every right to send Roland and his team packing, they had done nothing in sympathy for their lost coworker. Dr. Harrington wasn't so understanding. She was threatening to call his superiors in Langley and get him pulled off the case if he did not bring her precious _patient_ back to her safe and sound. What she didn't seem to understand was that it was a 'kill-or-be-killed' situation concerning Sands, and always had been. He had already killed 3 people for fuck's sake!

"Don't let her get under your skin. She's as crazy as the rest of the whackos in here," the security chief and Roland's unofficial partner for the search, a man by the name of Silber muttered under his breath.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Roland murmured in return before sharing an amused look with Silber. "How can you stand to work for her every day?"

"I just tell myself that I don't; that I work for the hospital instead," Silber said with a shrug. "And even though you probably don't believe me, there are worse people than her working at this hospital."

"You're right. I don't believe you," Roland said with a shake of his head before looking over to what Silber had picked up. "Is that a map of the hospital?"

Silber nodded and handed it over Roland. "It's the best one I could find. I guess no one ever thought to make a very accurate one in case it was needed in a manhunt, huh?" he asked with a bit of a wry laugh.

"And we're sure Sands is still in the hospital?" Roland asked as he scanned over the map.

"I've got men posted on every exit out of the building. He ain't going no where," Silber said definitively.

Roland nodded, his attention still focused on the map in his hands. "Good, good. I'm going to get you, you bastard, you've no where left to run," he murmured as his eyes scanned the map, envisioning Sands in this place or that. The man was on the run, injured, and supposedly drugged to the fucking gills. _Yeah right. If he was the drugged up he wouldn't be leading us on a merry chase, now would he? That stupid bitch doctor. _He glanced over at Silber and saw the man watching his every move. "I don't suppose you have a suggestion of where to start looking?" he asked the security chief causally.

"It's easier to get in to the older parts of the hospital, the part your suspect was contained in, than it is to get out. Trust me. If you want my opinion, focus your attention in those areas."

Roland pursed his lips and looked over the sections Silber had referred to. "It's hell of a lot of area to cover," he muttered to himself. He then held out a hand for Silber's radio and raised it to his mouth. "Officer Brisbane, please respond, over."

"What is it, Rivers? I've got an escaped prisoner to catch you know. I don't have time for girl talk," Emily's voice came through the radio and assaulted his ears. "Over," she added as a bit of mocking afterthought.

Roland just rolled his eyes. Emily was one of the brightest officers he knew but her twisted sense of humor left something to be desired at times. This was one of those times. "Take as many of Officer Silbers' men—" for the security chief was a member of the DC Police Department as well and warranted the title in recognition of that fact "—and concentrate your search on the newer areas of the hospital. Check any unused areas he could be possibly hiding out in. But don't limit yourself to them. He'll kill his way through a crowd if he has to. We've seen that. Over."

"Are you sure? Was there anything else you wanted to tell me? How to talk like a proper young lady, perhaps? I bet you'd like that," Emily teased. "Over and out, Rivers," she said before he could respond, and the radio went quiet.

"Chicks, huh?" Silber murmured sympathetically having overheard Roland and Emily's conversation. It was likely anyone with a radio-every one of Silber's staff-had as well. Roland cursed.

"You have no idea," Roland muttered in response, taking a minute to bring his temper under control before bringing the radio back to his lips. "Officer Cartwright? Please respond, over."

"This is Officer Cartwright, over," Susannah's voice came through the radio a few moments later.

"You'll be searching the older parts of the hospital with me. Come to the security command center and we'll coordinate our search together. Over."

"Understood. Over and out."

WWW

"Just do what you're good at and we won't kill you." Sands' attempted reassurance to the trembling nurse he had found to redress and re-stitch his weeping chest wound did not seem to have much of an affect. Jeffrey's sudden ramblings—

"Not supposed to kill before dinner. Bad form. No pudding for you." –didn't seem to be helping matters either.

"Just ignore him," Sands said with an offhand wave of the scalpel, not noticing that the nurse had flinched again. "I'm afraid he's partaken of a bit too much of your hospital's fine drug supply. Wouldn't you agree, Jeffrey?"

"Sizzle, sizzle," Jeffrey murmured in response.

"There you have it," Sands said dryly. "Are you about finished?" he looked down his bare chest to where the nurse's hands busily worked. "Because that fucking hurts, you know."

The trembling nurse gave out a little squeak and a moan as if he had just told her that he was going to eviscerate her with a rusty butter knife.

"Need shots after that. Lockjaw is definitely not recommended," Jeffrey murmured, snatching Sands' thought out of the air and responding to it with little effort. "Time. I'm discomforted."

"Seems like the vote's unanimous," Sands muttered. "Ok, it's time to go whether you're done or not. And if you try to tell me it's not healthy for me to be running around with a healing gun shot wound to the stomach, I'll fucking slit your throat. Savvy?"

The nurse did the most prudent thing for all concerned, now that it was time to be leaving, and fainted.

"Rude. Very rude," Jeffrey muttered, sitting up a little with a wince to look down at the nurse's crumpled body. "Go."

WWW

"I sincerely doubt he's going to be in there, but hey whatever floats your boat, buddy," Emily murmured under her breath as the security guard she was partnered with made a thorough search of the woman's rest room. "Pervert," she muttered, checking her watch as she waited for the idiot to finish gawking at the tampon dispenser. They were getting no where. People were beginning to doubt that Sands was still in the hospital now; it had been so long since anyone had seen a trace of him. Emily was getting frustrated, it was true, but not so much that she lost her common sense. There was no way that Sands could have left the hospital without someone seeing. The entire place was on alert and he wasn't exactly able to blend. Not with his pointed features and the shoulder-length hair. He was a man made to be noticed and somebody would. They just had to be patient.

"He's not in there, ma'am," the guard dutifully informed her after searching every stall twice. Emily was just thankful they were all vacant; although seeing some pissed off doctor or nurse go after the guard for the uncalled for embarrassment might have held amusement for at least a little while.

"What a shock, Emerson," Emily murmured under her breath. When he predictably asked what she had said, she just shook her head and smiled a little. "Good job. Let's keep looking, ok?" _Damn Roland for making me search this fucking part of the hospital. He's not here. He never was. _She sighed and kept looking for Sands regardless.

WWW

Dr. Harrington scowled as she listened to the radio she had taken from the security desk. _These people couldn't find their own shadows. How am I supposed to believe that they'll find my patient?_ Dr. Harrington knew that Sands had to be found and found quickly. It was essential for the furthering of his treatment. _He has to realise that his place is here or else he will try this again and that simply will not do._ _He needs a stable environment in which to live otherwise he will never heal. He will never learn to trust me._ _And without that trust there can be no healing. It's circular._ Dr. Harrington knew Sands was a killer, she had seen the results of his work first hand with the nurse and the two guards he had killed in escaping his room, but she knew that at his core he was just a confused young man. It was that confusion which led him to kill, and if she could calm his mind his body would follow.

"Doctor? Are you alright?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Dr. Harrington looked up to see a well-meaning intern staring down at her fixedly. "I'm fine," she said evenly.

"I'm scared too. Can you imagine? A real life serial killer on the loose in our hospital? Some days it simply doesn't pay to get out of bed. But they'll surely catch him. They're the police," the intern said with complete conviction, nodding her head quickly so that her shoulder-length red hair made pendulum-like motions past her ears.

"If this group is the model for all police officers in the country then we are all doomed," Dr. Harrington murmured, still listening to the idiots chatter back and forth on the radio. She was tempted to push down the talk button herself and give them all a few fast lessons in common sense; something each of them seemed to be sorely lacking. "Even they will have to catch him eventually. There's no where left for him to run. He's to stay here."

"Who is? The killer? He's going to stay _here_? Oh Dr. Harrington, I don't know how I feel about that. What if he escapes again? How will I be able to work here knowing that he could get out and kill us all?"

"Then quit," Dr. Harrington said succinctly. "Because he's going to remain here until he's successfully rehabilitated. No matter how long it takes."

"Do you really think one of the other doctors here might help him? Make him normal?" the intern asked curiously.

Dr. Harrington turned her head away and rolled her eyes. "No, you mindless twat, I don't think one of the other doctors might be able to help him. I know _I _amgoing to help him."

The intern moved to the side a little to get a good glimpse of Dr. Harrington's face as she said this vow, and immediately took a step back at the icy resolution in the doctor's face, unequivocally deciding to begin looking for a new line of work as soon as possible. _All doctors are definitely insane. _

WWW

"You're inane, crazy as a jaybird, escaped loony, out of the booby hatch, and into the world talking to yourself and to me and me and to you."

"Jeffrey please, for the love of god, just shut up for a few minutes and let me think. What happened to the 'silence was golden' mood you were in earlier? Practice that again."

"Turned my fingers green. Fool's gold. It didn't glitter," Jeffrey murmured with a mournful shake of his head.

"Oh yeah? What about 'silence speaks louder than words?' Why don't you try that one on for size for a little while?"

"Do you think it would really fit? It seems too small."

Sands rolled his still fixed and dilated eyes at that. "You won't know if you don't try, now will you? And if at first you don't succeed…" Jeffrey nodded, seeming to get the picture.

"Not alone," Jeffrey whispered a few minutes later. "We're no longer one…or two…" He frowned at this, seemingly confused at his own statement.

Sands forcibly clicked his jaw shut so Jeffrey wouldn't have the chance to continue rambling his clearly jumbled thoughts and listened. Sure enough, he could hear what sounded like a pair of shoes clicking down the hall to his left. He backed himself against the corner, tightened his grip on the scalpel he held, and waited, listening hard.

"This is bullshit, ma'am. Pardon my French. Are we even sure this guy's still in the hospital? For all we know he's jumped out of a window and is wrecking havoc on the innocent citizens. We need more men. With scent hounds. We need to evacuate this damn place. Then, maybe, we'll find him if he's still here," a man's voice complained, leaving Sands to smirk. If only he knew just how close he was. The complaining man's companion-Sands could still hear two distinct sets of footsteps-declined to answer.

'Watch out for the other. They know to listen. Not ramble on. He'll be cake. The other will be pie,' Jeffrey whispered within Sands' mind, seeming to understand the need for silence. That was something at least. He still seemed to be speaking in a mishmash of metaphors, quotes and idioms, but Sands was beginning to understand the gist at least, and the knowledge that Jeffrey wouldn't be like this forever reassured him. Not to mention that he was sublimely thankful for the fact that while Jeffrey was lost in a drug altered landscape, his own vision was clear.

The footsteps grew closer, and Sands tightened the grip on the scalpel until his knuckles turned white from the strain. Jeffrey was still being physically silent, but within Sands' head he was chanting and rhyming about a need to kill that could not be denied. Sands had never really thought about his killing as a need, but now that he had, he could see that Jeffrey was right. It wasn't just that he liked to kill; it was that he _needed _to. He could feel that need now like a ball of vipers deep within his guts, hissing and biting to be unleashed. Even if Sands had wanted to stop; wanted to be normal again, he feared it was no longer an option. The need was great and would not be denied.

"You've been chasing this guy longer than I have. Where do you think he would go?" the man asked again, and Sands strained to listen, both wanting to know the answer to the question and the identity of the man's companion. He reasoned that it had to be one of Roland's…coworkers, but he didn't know which one.

"I think he'll stay close." Ah, Susannah. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. About her. Jeffrey on the other hand, wanted her dead. Or sex with her. He seemed to be conflicted between the two. "He's had plenty of opportunity to flee the country. The only place he's gone is Baltimore. No, he'll stay on the East Coast. Or he would if he was going to get away. He's not."

"Correct," he companion said firmly. Sands fought down Jeffrey's urge to snort at their arrogance.

"Do not become overconfident, Stark. We haven't caught him yet. Sands is extremely clever, and strongly motivated to ensure his own rival. We're only his pursuers."

Stark, or whatever his name was, didn't seem to like that answer. "Kill. Need. Need. Kill. Death is art. Beauty. Quick, fast, slow, fun. Blood dripping, dripping, dripping. Screams like symphonies. Power to kill. Power to save. Never save. Always kill. All must. Death. Inevitable." Sands halted Jeffrey's whispered rambling with an upraised hand. Now was definitely not the time.

"Did you hear that?" Susannah asked suddenly, and Sands froze and silently cursed his rambling second personality. He then shrugged. It didn't really matter if they heard him. They were both dead.

"Yeah. Whispering," Stark answered, beginning to lead with his gun down the corridor as Susannah had been doing all along. "You think it's him?"

Susannah didn't answer, only tightened her own grip on her weapon, calming her breathing so that he aim would be true. She had no doubt in her mind that Sands knew that they were here and lay in wait for them. She didn't know if he was armed, but it was safer to count on the fact that he was.

"All or none. Must get both. One is lonely. Both wish us harm. No harm will come. Can't. Must be free. This is not the way the world ends. No bang, all whimper. I will not let it!"

Sands ignored Jeffrey's now loud ranting because it truly didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. He either made his move against them now, or stayed here until they found him and killed him. Somehow he knew that his capture would no longer be an option in these circumstances. His prey would be fighting for its life as surely as he. He made his strike.

Stark fell with a hand on the thrown scalpel that had lodged itself in his throat, gurgling for breath as he and his weapon fell to the floor. Sands' luck wasn't as good with Susannah however. A bolt of searing white hot pain raced through his chest, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. That didn't stop him though. The rage at being wounded by someone so….insignificant as her sent him into a pain and anger filled frenzy that had him barreling towards her regardless of the risks of running full tilt towards a loaded gun. He didn't care. He was beyond caring. He only wanted, no _needed_ to make her pay for what she had done.

Susannah hadn't seen Stark go down. There hadn't been any time. If he still lived she would get him help later. If Sands still lived there would be no help for either of them. So she shot. The bullet hadn't been the killing shot she had been hoping for-she had missed his heart by mere inches but enough so that he still charged-but she had certainly done some significant damage. Blood wasn't quite spilling from Sands' lips from the bullet in his left lung yet, but it was only a matter of time. She had to make that time or she would die. They all would.

Her breath left her body like Sands' surely was when he tackled her to the ground, but somehow she had managed to hold onto her gun. She didn't care how she had done it, only that she needed to get it pointed towards him long enough to blow his fucking head off.

"Bitch! Fucking whore! Must love because this fucking hurts!" Jeffrey yelled and pinned Susannah's wrist to the floor almost effortlessly. "We need time. Time wounds. Time heals." He coughed then, and Susannah grimaced as droplets of blood saliva dripped onto her face. "Walls closing in. Hard to breathe. Your fault. Kill only the kill."

"You don't want to kill me, Sands. Jeffrey," Susannah gasped, trying not to let out a cry as she could feel the bones of her wrist grinding under their weight.

"Yes, I do," he hissed immediately but then frowned. "Why wouldn't I?" he rasped, his breathing beginning to sound a little ragged, but his grip and weight on her not fading as his breath was.

"Because you need my help. You're in no shape to move on your own. If you kill me, you'll be left here to die alone. No one will come to help you." If Susannah was as desperate as anyone in her current situation had every right to be, it didn't show in her voice.

"What makes you think we can trust you?" he asked after hesitating just long enough that Susannah thought she was about to leave this life.

"You don't have a choice," she said firmly, keeping her gaze locked on his.

"Fuck you. You know by saying that, I just want to kill you and search out my own choices, don't you?"

"I know. Come on, Sands. You're a reasonable man. Look at the logic in this. You must see that you need help. I shot you in the chest; in the lung to be accurate, and without medical attention soon you'll drown in your own blood. It doesn't sound like a nice way to die to me. But hey, I'm not you."

"Let go of the gun and maybe I'll think about it," he rasped.

"I keep the gun and you keep the bullets or I don't help you and you die."

"Fine," he hissed. He didn't need a gun to kill her. She had gotten too far under his skin for him to use something as blunt and impersonal as a gun. No, her death required knives or hands. Something up close where he could hear her take her last breath. She kept a hold of the gun but pressed the clip release so that it slid out onto the floor. He reached up and pulled the slide back, sending the bullet in chamber across the hall. He gathered up the bullets and kept them in hand, moving off of her as quickly as he could manage with a bullet lodged in his chest-he hadn't felt it exit through his back. Damn bitch. Why did she have to shoot him? Why couldn't she just lie down and die like she was supposed to? He grumbled these thoughts within his mind as he yanked the scalpel out of the dead cop's neck and brandished it in her direction, but didn't move towards her. The fact that she could just run occurred to him, and he scowled. He didn't like this. He didn't like not being in control of the situation. But as he felt a wetness creeping deep down in his throat, he knew he had no other choice.

"You've seen how good I can throw this thing," he held up the scalpel. "Try to run, and you'll encounter it first hand."

Susannah nodded as she rose to her feet. _What the hell am I doing? I'm surviving, that's what. _She argued within her own mind as she looked over to Sands who now stood a little crookedly, as if he'd rather lie down than stand as he silently threatened her. "You need medical attention. If you don't stop the bleeding and seal up that wound at the very least…you'll be in trouble," she said as gently as she could, both trying to make her point clear and trying not anger him into killing her. Though she now noticed a faint trembling in his hand as it gripped the bloody scalpel that he had used to kill Stark, she had no doubt that he could still throw it with accuracy. For now. "Come on."

Sands either didn't trust the hand she offered or was trying to be a stubborn man about accepting a woman's help because he didn't take what she offered and instead tried to get up on his own. He paid for this arrogance by coughing up a small pile of bloody she didn't want to know what onto the floor. Even though she had had to shoot him at the time or be killed herself, seeing what she had done to him firsthand afterwards sent a shot of guilt through her body. She wasn't a monster or a sociopath. She didn't like killing people. Not even those who deserved it. "Are you going to accept my help now or do you want to leave me here? One of us doesn't have a lot of time to fuck around, Sands."

"Time. Shorter of breath and one day closer to death," Jeffrey moaned. "Sands of the hourglass slipping through broken and bloodied fingers." Jeffrey didn't laugh at the pun he had made. It wasn't funny. Nothing was anymore. "All fall silent in the halls of the dead."

"Yeah, sure," Susannah agreed without comment, taking Sands' right arm and pulling it up so that it lay around her neck with him leaning heavily against her, the scalpel having been transferred to his left hand and still pointed at her even as he was seemingly at her mercy for the moment.

"Why are you doing this?" he gasped out through bloodied teeth. "Rather be dead than institutionalized. Death is peace. I won't go back."

"I know," Susannah said softly. She had always suspected that Sands would do everything in his power not to end up locked up in some hospital like this one. She had even told Roland that he'd probably be happier on death row than charged as the criminally insane. Susannah didn't think she really blamed him on the count. "Don't talk. You'll just make things worse."

"Don't care. Rather be dead than caught." He had been about to ask her to kill him rather than take him back to those who would chain him, but his survival instinct reared its ugly head fast and hard and roared at him to stop his fucking whingeing and get ahold of himself. He wasn't a fucking pussy. He was better than this. He would survive this. He would get away from them and laugh about it later. Those stupid bumbling cops who couldn't catch a fucking tan if they were on the surface of the sun. He would show them all.

"Being caught has nothing to do with talking but fine, whatever. You want to talk, you go right ahead. Ramble to your black heart's content. Just if you really want to live through this, it might be a good idea to listen to what I'm trying to tell you."

Sands scowled but then Jeffrey moaned in their shared pain and they both came to the decision that it was best to listen to her for the time being. Anything to make the pain go away. Anything.

WWW

"Agent Cartwright come in please, over," Roland said through his radio. He and Silber had been searching the hospital from top to bottom for the last fifteen minutes and so far nothing. Not even a trace of Sands. Had he been wrong? Had Sands somehow managed to make his way to the newer parts of the hospital? And if so, how the fuck was he managing to evade all of their teams? From what Roland had seen of the hospital grounds as he had searched it, there were very few empty places in which to hide out. The building was practically bursting from all the activity contained within. There were doctors, patients, family members, security, anyone and everyone lining the halls he had passed. Fewer since the alert that a serial killer was loose on the grounds went out, but a lot of innocent bystanders getting in his way all the same. "Agent Cartwright this is Agent Rivers, please respond, over."

"Maybe she turned it off? She might have wanted radio silence if she thought she were getting close to finding Sands," Silber offered upon seeing Roland's brow furrow as he was unable to reach his coworker.

"Maybe," Roland murmured, chewing on his bottom lip in thought for a moment before bringing the radio back up to his lips. "Agent Brisbane come in, over."

"Yes, darling?" Emily drawled over the radio a moment longer. "What is it?"

Roland refused to acknowledge her jibe, cutting straight to the point. "I can't raise Susannah. Have you heard from her recently?"

"No, not a word. Why? Do you think she is in trouble? She was with an Officer Stark. If you can't reach her radio, try his," Emily suggested, not sounding worried, not yet.

Roland turned to Officer Silber who nodded and used his own radio to attempt to contact his man. After a few tries, he looked up at Roland with a perplexed look just shy of worry. "His radio is on, but he's not answering. You don't think—"

"If he's got her, then we don't have time to think," Roland interrupted. "Emily, did you hear that? Meet me at the entrance to the new wing of the hospital. We're going to go and find Susannah."

WWW

"I don't care how you have to do it. Fix it now," Sands ordered the surgeon he had grabbed with Susannah's help. He didn't bother to stop and think of why she was helping him anymore. His only thought was that his breath was getting shorter and shorter with each passing minute.

"You need immediate surgery. This isn't something that can be fixed in here, or just by me working or you willing it so. You have a bullet lodged in your lung. If we don't remove it soon, you'll die," the doctor informed him slowly, trying to make this madman understand.

"Doctor heal thyself," Jeffrey threatened. Sands interpreted for him after wiping a trickle of blood from his lips off using the back of his hand.

"If you don't help me, you die. Simple as that."

"You'd die as well," the doctor tried to reason with him, looking to Susannah to give support that wasn't in her to give. You couldn't reason with the irrational. You would surely drive yourself insane by simply trying.

"Just do your best, doctor." Susannah gave him a look that said it was safer just to do what Sands said than try to argue with him. Surely the doctor must know by now of the people Sands had killed in his escape and by association just how dangerous he was. _Don't be a fool. Just do as he says. He won't be able to go very far for much longer. When he falls I'll take my moment and then we'll all be safe and he'll be dead. _She willed the doctor to hear and understand her silently thought message.

"Fine," the doctor agreed grudgingly, being left with no alternatives. It was either impromptu surgery on an escaped psychopath or death by the same said psychopath. He wasn't a stupid or suicidal man. Impromptu surgery it was.

WWW

Both doctor and patient survived the spur-of-the-moment surgery with more flying blood than colors, but survival was survival. The doctor hadn't been able to remove the bullet after a good deal of hesitant trying-without the anesthetic Sands had refused digging through a conscious patient's chest was a trying experience indeed-but had stitched it in at Sands' threatened insistence no matter how much the doctor tried to argue for Sands' health.

"Why do you care whether I live or die? I'd kill you with no such deliberation as you're taking with me," Sands said with a frown and a hissed intake of breath as the doctor finished the sutures.

"Because it's my job," the doctor answered, not taking his eyes off of his work. "Place too much stress and tension on these sutures and they won't hold. I've already told you that you need proper medical attention, but you're still not listening to me, are you?"

"Listening doc. Do you want a carrot or a stick?" Jeffrey asked suddenly as Sands buttoned up the white lab coat he had borrowed to cover the blood stained and tattered hospital gown he had been running around in.

"How long are these fucking drugs supposed to last? Do you know how annoying it is having a drugged up person in your head while you remain sober?" Sands asked with irritation.

"Can't say as I do," the doctor said with a moment's hesitation. "What were you given?"

"It was blue," Jeffrey offered with a helpful smile. "Blue like the clouds. Only not. Or maybe it was red. Like blood. Blood is pretty but hard to get out of clothes." He nodded somberly.

"I don't know," Sands said with a sigh. "I wasn't here. He was."

"You really are two separate people sharing one body?" the doctor asked curiously. He had been listening to the two slightly different voices speak back and forth to each other and to him and the CIA agent, but he still had to ask. He wasn't sure he believed it.

"True. Honest. Bored now," Jeffrey said with a frown as if he were disappointed in the doctor for asking.

The surgeon shook his head at that, making a face as if that only served to confuse him even more. It was likely that that was the case. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked, taking off his bloodied gloves and dumping them in a trashcan against the wall. It pained him not to put it in a biohazard can as he was trained, but they were in a conference room or some such and he didn't have the option. Come to think of it, he didn't think he had ever been in this particular room before, and he was a member of the senior staff.

"He's going to let you go. Aren't you, Sands?" Susannah spoke for him, giving Sands a pointed look as he raised himself slowly up off of the table.

"You're a ballsy bitch. I like you," Jeffrey said with a leer in her direction.

Sands ignored Jeffrey's comment and answered Susannah's. "You're testing my fucking patience, Agent Cartwright, but fine. Your precious doctor will live for now. I don't kill those who are of use to me. At least, not at first."

"How comforting," the doctor muttered under his breath. Sands shot him a cold look just daring him to say something further; to try his patience, but the doctor remained wisely silent.

Susannah was just about to suggest to Sands that he tie the doctor up and leave him in here when Sands took his own initiative and grabbed the conference telephone off of the table and used it to knock the helpful doctor out cold. "Come on, hostage. I've got places to be."

"And people to kill," Jeffrey added with a manic grin.

"That too," Sands agreed. "Let's get the fuck out of here. I've always disliked hospitals, but I've never had an urge to firebomb one to the ground like I do with this one before."

"Tygers burn brightly," Jeffrey added his opinion to that matter. "This place should have stripes. Does it have stripes?"

Sands just decided it was easier not to attempt to answer that one.

WWW

"Come on, people! This hospital's not _that fucking big_!" Roland shouted in frustration as they were still searching for both Sands and Susannah now and having found trace of neither.

"Calm down, Rivers. You'll give yourself an aneurism or something. Well, I suppose this would be the right place for it. Nevermind, you go right ahead. Knock yourself out," Emily muttered, frustration beginning to wear on her too and send her back to her old patterns of irritability with Roland. She didn't care right now. She only wanted to find Sus and knock her friend upside the head for worrying her.

"What is your problem, Brisbane? If you can't handle this case anymore why don't you just leave and save us all a lot of grief?" Roland asked as he turned towards her and leveled her with an icy glare.

Emerson and Silber shared a knowing look and decided to walk on ahead and let their two partners duke it out or fuck each others brains out as it sounded that neither of them were completely sure which one they wanted.

The two combatants warred on, neither of them noticing that they were now alone in an empty hall. "Fuck you, Rivers. I'm handling this case a hell of a lot better than you are!"

"Oh yeah? How so?" Roland taunted with a sneer. "What have you done that's so great, oh mighty Agent Brisbane? Huh? Jack shit, that's what. I'm your superior. I should have had you thrown off of this case a long time ago."

"You may be the leading officer on this case but you've never been my superior, Roland. Never. You're not even my inferior. You're nothing to me."

"That's not what you were saying a few days—" Roland was cut off by a sharp slap across the cheek. His head jerked to the right under the momentum of the blow and he unintentionally bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. "Real nice, Brisbane," he muttered, spitting out a wad of bloody saliva to the ground and glaring up at her. "Striking a fellow officer now. I'll be sure to add that to me report…" he trailed off with a frown as he saw her face.

Instead of the fiery anger he had expected from her, he saw something else. Before he could figure out what that something else was, they were kissing. Hard, rough, passionate kisses that stole his breath away and gave it back to him again in turn. His fingers made their way to the back of her head and tangled themselves in her hair, bringing her even closer as their kiss grew heated and much deeper. It was a definite one-of-a-kind soul kiss, each of them drawing everything and anything they could out of the other person.

Hands moved under shirts and down waistbands; their present situation and the search for Sands and Susannah lost in the moment their lips had joined. It didn't exist anymore. There was only heat and flesh and desire. They probably would have taken things far further than was prudent in a public hospital corridor, but they were interrupted by cries of their names by their partners. They broke apart as if pulled, matching looks of mingled horror and lust on their faces, and moved even further apart before running to see what had happened while they had been having an impromptu and entirely improper make-out session.

"It's Stark sir; ma'am. He's dead," Emerson announced as Roland and Emily turned a corner and followed the calling voices. They came upon a dead body in the middle of the hall dressed in a security uniform. His neck was a mess of blood and torn flesh.

"He was with Susannah," Roland announced softly, clenching his fists in rage and desperately not looking at Emily. "Sands did this. That mother-fucking bastard did this!"

"She either ran or he's taken her," Silber said stoically. He pulled out his radio and called one of his men still at the security desk to send for the morgue. "Someone has to stay with the body until the police and pathologist arrive. I'll do it. Take Emerson with you and find the son of a bitch who did this and your missing agent. I pray she's still alive."

"If she isn't, then Sands isn't either," Roland vowed coldly. No one argued that and the two agents and security officer continued their search through the halls of dead.

TBC

A/N: Well golly. I really didn't expect this chapter to get that long. It took on a mind of its own, I swear. Hmm, as did my characters…. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Please review and tell me what you thought! Thankee-sai.

Special thanks to all of my reviewers! You guys are the best!!


	20. House of Cards

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Warning, character death. I'm not really sure why this chapter wanted written, or why I killed the person I did, but I hope you still like it in spite of all that.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Twenty: House of Cards

"You can't run like this forever. You know it as well as I do," Susannah said as she and Sands raced down an empty corridor. She could see the effects of blood loss and serious injury were taking their toll on him even if he was too blind to.

"Do not deign to think that you know me and what I can or cannot do. You don't. You don't know anything about me," Sands addressed her coldly.

"Oh really? I know that you're a spoiled rich brat who's probably never known a day of pain or hardship in his life before he decided to go insane and start killing people. You'll break, Sands. It's inevitable."

Sands' hand had swung out to make contact with her face before either of them knew what was happening. She was sent sprawling to the ground, her gun clattering out of her limp hand as she hit the floor. She remained on her hands and knees for a moment after that which told Sands just how hard he had hit her since she wasn't immediately going after her gun. "You will kindly keep a civil tongue or I shall pull it out of your fucking skull, bitch," he hissed to her. He had no idea whether or not he could actually do such a thing-it depended on how much further she continued to piss him off-but at least it sounded threatening though.

"Tongues can be as knives. Fall on them and you'll spill crimson," Jeffrey added.

"You sick son of a bitch," Susannah muttered from her place on the floor after reaching over to take ahold of her empty gun again. "You have no idea how twisted you are, do you? Do you honestly think normal people would do the things you've done? Kill the people you have? You should have been drowned at birth. But oh, I forgot. Poor little Sands didn't have parents who loved him, but didn't hate him enough to kill him either, did he? I bet they ignored you. And you hated that, didn't you? You hated them. That's why you killed them, isn't it? Poor lonely Sands who just wanted a little attention. Well you got your attention. You burnt them alive in their own bedroom. How did that make you feel? Did you stay and listen to their screams? You did, didn't you? Can you still hear them now? Tell me, Sands. What did your parents' death sound like? Oh, and how about the smell? I've been told the smell of burning human flesh is quite unbelievable."

"Smells just like chicken," Jeffrey murmured as Sands simply stared at her, too stunned and angry to do anything quite yet.

Susannah was undaunted by the comment. "Do you still hear their screams? Do you get off on it, you sick son of a bitch? I bet you do. And you know what else? I bet you've never had a woman in your life. Not a real one. That's why you like to kill them, isn't it? That's why every woman you've slept with has ended up dead. You don't know what to do with them afterwards. Is it impotence? Serial killers and sexual deviants often have trouble getting it up—" Her tirade was cut off as he hit her again, hard enough to send black spots dancing across her vision. Sands reached out and roughly flipped her over onto her back and straddled her, pinning her arms to the ground.

"Would you like to know what it's like, you nosy bitch? Would you like to learn first hand just how far my so-called _sexual deviance_ goes? I've never actually raped someone before, but for you I'd be willing to make an exception. Someone needs to show you your fucking place," Sands hissed in a very cold and emotionless voice although Susannah could see the rage and hate dancing in his dark eyes.

"She does, she does, she does!" Jeffrey chanted. "She wants to know. She _needs _to know."

"You think it will make you better at your job? Help you become better able to know what a victim is going through if you've experienced it yourself?" The manner in which he asked the question was casual, but his voice and demeanour were filled with hate and malice.

The realisation that she had gone much too far with someone who wouldn't blink at the thought of killing her screamed itself in her mind, ordering her to keep her stupid mouth shut if she wanted to keep her life.

"What? Nothing to say? You don't want to know what it's like then?" he hissed at her. "But think of what a good officer you would be then," he taunted maliciously, neither moving off of her nor letting her arms free as she spoke.

"She doesn't want to know. She doesn't care. Scared as a mouse in a cat's jaws. Poor little mouse. Where's her tail? I want to hear her squeak," Jeffrey said, looking every bit as malicious as Sands was.

"Let me go, Sands. You've made your point," Susannah said cautiously.

"Have I now? And what point was it that I was trying to make?"

"The sharp kind. Glittering razors in starlight. Beautiful points," Jeffrey murmured.

"That you won't hesitate to kill me if I continue to piss you off," she said evenly.

"Oh, I was planning on doing that anyway. Try again," Sands said with a truly mad grin.

"That you've got control," she answered, trying her best to look submissive while still calculating a way to beat him. She was no weakling. She had survived CIA training when scores of her fellow classmates had fallen. She knew how to take care of herself, damn it. It was time to start thinking. Antagonising Sands, while rewarding in its own way, was ultimately a foolish course of action bordering on suicidal. What had she been thinking?

That had apparently been what Sands had wanted to hear, because he released her. "Don't forget it again or I _will_ kill you where you stand. And not quickly. It would be easier to get out of this fucking place with a hostage, but I'm sure I'd be able to find a replacement for you easily enough. It _is_ a hospital after all," he said evenly. "Do not test me, sugarbutt. You won't like the results."

"My word, my word. Thief. Fingers stick where you stand. Won't be able to let go of her hand," Jeffrey growled.

"Yeah, well I'm using it so shut the fuck up," Sands growled in return, growing tired of Jeffrey's ramblings. He rose to his feet with a wince as his stitches stretched, the bullet that was still lodged in his chest screaming for attention. He pressed a hand to the front of the stolen lab coat he was wearing and gently moved two fingers between the buttons to feel for blood as a telltale sign that his sutures had broken open. To his surprise, he found none. The sutures had held for now. Maybe it was a good idea to have let that doctor live after all.

Jeffrey retaliated for Sands' comment by biting down hard on his tongue causing Sands to yelp in pain and outrage.

Susannah rose to her feet and simply watched as Sands began to argue with Jeffrey over that with almost morbid fascination. _If I can get the fighting each other enough, I might be able to escape and get back to Roland and Emily. _She needed a gun damn it. _Actually you need bullets not a gun,_ she reminded herself with a frown. _Right now he holds all of the cards. He's in control._

"Our fly's beginning to think she's a spider. But even so, she's still caught in the web," Jeffrey commented suddenly, startling Susannah out of her thoughts. Had he guessed her intentions? Thankfully, Sands either didn't understand Jeffrey's warning or didn't care because he ignored him.

"We're going. I want out of this fucking hell hole," Sands ordered, grabbing Susannah's arm roughly and pushing her down the hall in front of him.

Susannah nearly stumbled in her high heels but she managed to keep her footing in spite of Sands' push and consequent laughing at her clumsiness. As his laughing turned into slightly pained coughing once more she knew that her chance would come. All she had to do now was wait. That, and try not to get herself killed.

WWW

"And after that he what, just knocked you out?" Roland asked the nurse they had literally stumbled across incredulously.

"Well…not exactly knocked out, per se," the nurse murmured, rubbing the back of her head where she had hit it when she had fallen and looking a little sheepish.

"She fainted," Emily responded before Roland could ask the nurse what she had meant. "You're lucky to be alive. I hope you realise that," she told the nurse firmly.

"Officer Stark wasn't as lucky as you. Your dear patient slit his throat and left him to die after taking our colleague hostage," Roland said evenly, not entirely sure why he seemed to be taking his frustrations out on the nurse, but not really caring at the moment either.

The nurse paled at that. "He-he killed someone? The man I helped?"

"He's killed quite a few people by now, actually. You'd be surprised; he gets around," he said dryly, beginning to pace a little as he spoke statement after statement, not letting anyone interrupt his tirade. "You helped a wanted serial killer to kill again. I hope you're proud of—" That was as much as he had been able to get out before Emily dragged him forcefully out of the small operating room that they had been using to interrogate the frazzled nurse.

"What the fuck is your problem, Rivers?" Emily hissed at him when they were alone. "You're treating that woman like she's some kind of fucking coconspirator and it stops right now. It's not her fault Sands got away. It never was. She was doing her job in fear for her life. That's all. Now you're going to go back in there and apologise to her for being an asshole."

"What? Fuck that. I'm not saying anything to her! She helped him!" Roland yelled back.

"Oh get over yourself, Roland!" Emily shouted, utterly disgusted with his actions. "She was scared for her life. She did what she was ordered to do because he would have killed her if she hadn't! You know this as well as I fucking do, so stuff a sock in it," she hissed. "This woman has done nothing wrong and you're treating her like she's committed a capital crime. Well she _hasn't_, Roland. And going after her like this isn't going to help get Susannah back either, so just _stop._"

Roland stopped. "God, I'm being an ass," he said with grim realisation. "Susannah could be…she could be dead by now and I'm standing here wasting time with accusations against some nurse."

"Don't tell me, tell her," Emily said calmly. "I'll be waiting out here when you're finished." She had no need nor desire to see Roland grovel. There were easier ways to get that kind of satisfaction from him. She frowned at this thought and tried to push it away. This was no time for lusty thoughts about white-blonde, luscious in those dark suits, incredibly pig-headed co-workers either; past indiscretions aside. She had better control of herself than that damn it.

"Let's go. They found a doctor unconscious in one of conference rooms down the hall who apparently did some kind of surgery on Sands," Roland said as he walked out to her.

"He's wounded?" Emily asked, not daring to hope.

Roland nodded. "And what's more, the doctor said that Susannah was with him when he saw Sands."

"We've got to talk with this doctor. Or…should we keep going? If Sands is truly wounded enough to require surgery, then he's not going to be getting very far very quickly."

"That, and I believe that Susannah will do everything in her power to slow him down. She knows we're chasing and that we will catch him." _Please god if you're listening, if you've ever listened, keep Susannah safe until we can get to her. Don't let this bastard hurt anyone else. Amen._ "Leave Emmerson. This is our job. It always has been."

Emily nodded without hesitation and they continued on their search. They couldn't be very far behind now. Roland wouldn't stand for it.

WWW

"Did you know Yvette was a member of the CIA when you killed her?" Susannah asked suddenly when Sands took a brief moment to rest against a wall. There was a marked shallowness to his breathing now that he seemed too stubborn to admit or acknowledge. She didn't know why she had asked that exactly, she just…wanted to know.

"I didn't find out until after. And I didn't kill her. Jeffrey did," Sands murmured.

"She upset me," Jeffrey murmured, trying his best to sound as lucid as possible and very nearly managing. "She didn't want me. She wanted him."

"And that was reason enough to kill her?" Susannah asked incredulously.

"Not just kill her. You didn't see her afterward. He fucking mutilated her, the sick bastard," Sands muttered to himself.

Susannah blinked at that, and spoke her mind before taking time to consider her words. "Jeffrey isn't real, Sands. He never was. He didn't kill Yvette, _you_ did. You killed all of those people. Only you. You knew what you were doing when you killed each and every one of them. You're not insane; you never have been. Jeffrey's not real. He's an excuse. And I'm not buying it any longer."

"You don't think I'm real? A figment? A phantom? Dust in the wind? A ghost in fog?" Jeffrey asked, sounding curiously hurt that she would dare think such a thing. "What me to prove it to you?"

"There's nothing to prove. You're not real—" A sharp blade flashed in the glare of the fluorescent lights above her, momentarily blinding her as it moved. When she could see again she frowned, finding that she had somehow lost the ability to speak. A trembling hand moved up to her throat, and her fingers came into contact with something warm and wet. Her frown deepened and she brought her hand to her face, looking down at her fingers in confusion. They were covered with something that looked disturbingly like blood. _Her_ blood. But, it couldn't be. If it was her blood, then clearly she would be in some kind of pain. But she felt nothing; only a dim numbness in her toes that seemed to be working its way up her legs with alarming speed.

"Ashes, ashes we all fall down," Jeffrey murmured as he watched her. Her eyes widened as she looked down at his hand to see the scalpel he clenched was dripping with blood. _No. I won't let it end like this! That son of a bitch! Help me! _She tried to scream these things, but the only thing she was able to manage was a wet gurgling sound that chilled her to the bone upon hearing it. As she fell to the ground, her own legs no longer able to support her, she vaguely heard Jeffrey murmuring what sounded like hail Mary's over her body as she quickly bled to death. "…now and at the hour of our death…" was the last thing she heard before the numbness overtook her and she felt no more.

WWW

"I'm not even Catholic. Where did you hear that?" Sands asked Jeffrey as stepped over Susannah's dead body. "And damn it, she was a hostage. You weren't supposed to kill her."

"Always carry a spare. Heard it while fishing," Jeffrey murmured in response.

"I don't fish either. Nevermind. Let's get the fuck out of here. Those fucking CIA agents are on our tail. You know it as well as I do. When that bastard Rivers finds out I've killed another one of his women I doubt he'll be too pleased with me," Sands said with a smirk. "Bitch was far too nosy for her own good anyway. And she shouldn't have gotten in our way. It was her own fault that she got herself killed."

"She didn't believe in me." Jeffrey almost sounded hurt at that. Almost.

"Yeah, that too. Well, I believe in you if it makes you feel any better. Now shut the fuck up and let's get the hell out of here."

WWW

"We've got to be getting close. It's like you said this hospital is not that fucking big," Emily muttered as they searched. "So why haven't we found him?"

"He's a clever bastard, I'll give him that," Roland responded. Truthfully though, if it hadn't been for the clear signs that he was still around-the frightened nurse, the unconscious doctor-he might have let his doubts take over considering the fact that they still hadn't caught him after searching for nearly an hour. "It has to be more than just cleverness. And I don't believe in luck. Someone's helping him."

Emily pursed her lips in thought at that. "Do you really think so? I mean, who would willingly-I assume you do mean willing help-help someone they knew could kill them at any second for no apparent reason at all? Psychopaths don't need reasons they need opportunities. That's got to be common knowledge, right? So who would help him?"

"Someone who didn't believe that he'd really do it." He scowled as a likely candidate came to mind. "That bitch of a doctor."

"Dr. Harrington? I mean, yeah she's a bit of a bitch, but do you honestly think she'd help Sands escape? She wants him in her care. I'd think she'd be more for chaining him to the wall and throwing away the keys than letting him go."

Roland considered this. "Fuck, you're right," he admitted with a frustrated sigh a moment later. "But he can't have managed this on his own, could he have?" He didn't sound quite as sure anymore.

"I don't know. I think we're underestimating him. Sure, he's crazy as a fucking loon, but he's also very smart. I don't know his history, but I can tell that much. And how often do you hear about geniuses who happen to be serial killers as well? The line between genius and madness is very thin, it seems."

"So…how are we going to fucking catch him then?" Roland asked slowly.

"You're asking me?" Emily asked incredulously.

"No. Forget it. We'll find him. He's not _that _fucking smart," he said defensively.

Emily nodded; still a little taken aback that he had asked her opinion without being prodded into it first. She couldn't remember another time that he had done that. "We should keep moving. The longer we wait the further Sands gets away from us."

Roland scowled a little at that intimation, but didn't say anything. In truth, despite his big words, he was beginning to doubt that they'd catch Sands at all. He had managed to elude them thus far, who was to say that he couldn't keep doing it? Not that he would ever say such a thing out loud, of course. Not even to Emily, one of the only people he truly trusted. Not that he would say that out loud either. He had a reputation as a mistrustful, headstrong bastard that he would maintain at all cost. The notion that he trusted her and perhaps had even come to rely on her over the past week was something that he could never admit to. Ever. It had the potential to change too many things that he didn't want changed. He settled for a nod that Emily didn't see because she had already started out ahead of him.

"Fucking smartass psychotic bastard," Emily muttered as they turned onto a hall that was pitch black; whether the lights either having been broken or simply turned off she didn't know and didn't particularly care. She scowled and stopped to pull a small penlight from her jacket pocket, holding it tightly in one hand while keeping her gun aimed ahead of her with the other.

Roland almost asked if she was talking to him, but figured it was better to lead well enough alone as he walked at her side, his own flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other making them a deadly matched pair. Well, they would have maintained that image had Roland not stumbled over something in the middle of the hallway, shattering the illusion of deadly grace. Once he had regained his footing, he ignored Emily's snicker and aimed his flashlight down to see what he had tripped over. As soon as the thin beam of light hit the floor, he froze, and Emily wasn't laughing any longer.

WWW

"Caught, caught, you're going to be caught. You hear them, don't you? I do and they're going to throw out the net. Little fishes can't swim any longer. They're all hooked. Do you see a hook? We are so screwed," Jeffrey muttered as they heard voices that were entirely too close for comfort coming up behind them from the darkened hall.

"Shut up," Sands hissed, doing his best to speed up. He could feel something warm and sticky coating his chest and knew that his stitches had finally decided to break open and cause him more problems than he could handle right now. That and he could feel his breath becoming shallow again as the bullet still within his lung caused its own problems. Fuck that. He wasn't going to be caught. Not like this. Not at all.

"Sands?" Jeffrey asked softly, startling him with how sane and lucid he sounded. Perhaps the drugs were finally wearing off.

"What?" he whispered back.

"Are we going to be caught? I don't want to be fucking caught," he said in a small nearly childlike voice.

"We're not going to be caught. We just have to keep running. We have to stay ahead of them."

"I can't run anymore, Sands. I'm tired. And I don't feel very good."

"Don't do this to me, Jeffrey. Not now. You don't want to be caught? Fine. You have to keep fucking running. I don't care if you're about to fucking die on me. Keep running. It's that or we're fucking caught. You don't want that, do you?" Jeffrey shook his head. "That's right. If we're caught, we're dead. And you don't want to die either, do you Jeffrey? Not after everything it took to get here." Truthfully, Sands couldn't care less if Jeffrey died, not really, but what would happen to him if he did? Would Jeffrey's death affect him? Or would he just be rid of the annoying thorn in his side that had started this whole fucking mess for good?

"It's too late to go back," Jeffrey said suddenly, having heard Sands' thoughts. "Death can't be undone. The reaper has them and he won't give them back. And they," he cast a glance back down the hall where they could now see the light of two flashlights, "won't let us go. Not after everything."

"There's no going back," Sands agreed with grim finality, gripping the gun he had taken from Susannah tightly. "I'll kill them all."

"Death is the only real adventure," Jeffrey murmured before he could stop himself. "Goddamn drugs," he muttered.

WWW

Emily took one look at her friend's bloody body, made ever more macabre by the harsh garishness of the flashlight in the darkness, and turned and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor behind her. "Oh fuck me, tell me that's not her," Emily moaned after she had finished, not wanting to turn back for a second look at the body that had tripped Roland up, but unable to look away.

"It's her. She's had her throat slit. Just like Officer Stark," Roland answered her in an emotionless voice as he stared down at Susannah's body. "Her gun is missing," Roland said as he crouched at her side and looked at Susannah's empty holster.

"Why would he arm himself now? Officer Stark still had his weapon when we found him." Emily was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Especially since the only thing that she could really focus on right now was the way Susannah's blood spread out into an oddly shaped pool from her ruined neck. This was her friend. This was her friend's blood. "He's not going to get away with this," Emily said suddenly, her voice still unusually calm, though full of hate now. "He won't ever see the inside of a jail cell. He's a fucking dead man."

Roland didn't argue that, but he did look at Emily in surprise because he could hear in her voice that she meant every word. She would kill Sands. "You're not a murder, Emily. If you fucking kill this bastard then you'll end up just like him. And so will I because I would help you erase his existence without a second thought for what he's done."

"I don't care. She was my friend, Roland. And he killed her. She didn't deserve to die like this. She didn't deserve to die at all. He has to pay."

Roland had been about to respond when gunshots rang out, sounding very loud and close in the dark hall. With a quick glance at Susannah's body and a vow to come back for her, he and Emily tore down the hall towards the noise, determined to end this once and for all.

WWW

Sands knew that the gunshots he had fired off at the men coming up the hall to him had probably been overheard by those chasing him, but he had had no choice. That he had managed to kill them both with one shot each had been nothing short of miraculous, especially considering that they had both been police officers gunning for his life. That and he couldn't remember ever having any formal training on the use of firearms either. It seemed he had natural aim. With knives too, which was even more unbelievable. "Did you learn all of this?" he asked Jeffrey.

"Practiced with knives. Never had a gun before," Jeffrey answered Sands' question. "I wanted to become a better killer."

Sands scoffed at that. "You're insane."

"Sanity is a state of mind like anything else. And like all other states of mind, it can be changed."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Sands asked, whirling around as he heard voices down the hall behind him.

"It means crazy is as crazy does," Jeffrey answered with a manic grin as he grabbed the gun out of Sands' and into his. "Let's play."

TBC

A/N: Sorry to the Susannah fans out there, she pissed Jeffrey off and simply had to die. We'll see how the rest of them fare next chapter. Until then, thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys keep this story going. Without your constant support, I might have given up on this monstrous fic a hundred pages ago. You guys rock.

-Merrie


	21. Darkness Becomes You

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: This chapter is a dark one. I'm telling you know. That, and it takes place almost entirely in flashback. Hope you like it.

Aurthor's Note II: This is the CLEAN version of this chapter. I took a part of the scene with Alice out for content's sake and while it doesn't really have an effect on the whole chapter, if you want to read the FULL version, it's on www. adultfanfiction .net under the same title and author.

Rating: R for extreme violence, sexual content and language.

Chapter Twenty-One: Darkness Becomes You

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 17:23 pm

"Have you even _thought _about schooling yet, Sheldon?" Sara Sands asked her 17 year old son incredulously.

"He had better. He's not going to be supported by us, I can tell you that much," Anthony Sands added with a disapproving frown.

Sheldon Sands sighed and tried not to look too hatefully at his parents. God, they didn't understand anything. They didn't care. They just wanted their fucking heir and toy to show off to their stuck-up friends and that was it. He wasn't their son; he was their fucking possession.

"Sheldon! Answer me when I speak to you!" Mrs. Sands yelled at her son.

"I've already been accepted to Cornell mother," Sands said calmly. _If you had bothered to pay any attention to me whatsoever, you'd know that, you dumb bitch._

"Cornell? Why not Stanford, like your father?"

"Because he probably couldn't get in," Mr. Sands said derisively.

"I didn't apply for Stanford, mother. I didn't want to go there."

"You didn't _what_?" Mr. Sands asked, practically throwing down the newspaper he had been reading at Sands' statement. "After all the money I've paid for your schooling you think you can just _pick and choose_ which college you go to? You ungrateful little brat."

"I wanted to go to Cornell, father. It's a respectable school," Sands said, keeping his voice as calm as he could while inside he was fuming.

"That is _not_ the point. And if you _ever_ talk back to me like that again, I'll make you wish you never had," Sands' father said coldly.

Sands gritted his teeth, but bore it. "Yes, father," he said with all the meekness of a frightened lamb before a wolf when in actuality, he was a hairsbreadth away from baring his own claws at his father and seeing whose were bigger.

"You're going to go where I _tell_ you to go. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, father."

"Now go to your room and don't come back until you've done what I've told you to do. Dinner can wait."

"Yes, father," Sands said evenly, getting up from his seat at the dining room table as they waited for their dinner to be brought out and stalking out of the room.

"This is your fault, you know," Anthony Sands informed his wife before turning back to his newspaper. "You indulge him too much. All that time spent in the rose garden. You've made him weak."

"Oh, spare me you bastard. If I thought we could get an annulment still, I'd end this marriage in a heartbeat."

"The feeling, my dear, is more than mutual."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 20:15 pm

"Stupid fucking parents," Sands muttered to himself as he finished the last application essay for…god, he didn't care where it was for anymore. Maybe he should just go to Stanford. At least then he'd be on the other end of the country and away from his fucking parents. "They probably wouldn't even miss me. Except as someone to order around all day long," he muttered to himself.

_They don't care about you. They never have, _a voice whispered malevolently in his thoughts.

Sands rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock," he muttered. "I've know that they don't love me since I was nine. It's old news."

_And yet it still pisses you off. Doesn't it?_

Sands scowled. "I'm their son. You'd think they'd at least notice that I seem to be just a little insane," he murmured ruefully. "I'm talking to myself for Christ's sake."

_No, you're talking to me. Not the same. _

"Oh, and that makes me feel _so_ much better," Sands said dryly.

_You know what would make you feel even **more** so? Getting rid of your fucking parents. _

"Explain 'getting rid of,' oh mysterious voice inside my head."

_What are you, a fucking moron? What do you think I meant?_

"Oh fuck you. What, you think I'm just going to kill my parents? Just like that? I'm not a killer."

The voice scoffed.

"Ok, fine. But I haven't killed any _people_," Sands tried to reason.

_But you want to. Admit it. You want to know what it's like. You want to know how it feels to hold someone's life in your hand and simply…squeeze._

Sands didn't want to answer that. It was true, he had thought about killing someone else. Perhaps one of the fucking kids who had called him "shellfish" when he was younger.

_Fuck them. They're not here. And shellfish? Come on, was that the best they could fucking come up with? They don't matter. They don't affect you. They're not holding you back like your parents are. And I know you've thought about killing them. Matricide. Patricide. You know the words as well as I do. _

Sands eyes narrowed as he grew wary at the voices' insistence for him to murder his parents. "Why are you trying to get me to do this? What's in it for you? No, don't answer that. I don't care. I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're not real. You never have been. You're just a voice inside my head; a figment of my imagination. I'm done talking to you. And I'm not going to kill my parents."

Sands might have said more, but he was interrupted by a polite knocking on his bedroom door. It was probably one of the help. His parents never came to him directly. He wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even know which room was his. He was always sent for, never visited. He had come to accept this. "Come in," he murmured.

"Pardon me, sir." He heard one of the younger maids voice before he saw her. "But your mother said I should tell you not to come for dinner. It's already over."

_Typical_. Sands thought to himself bitterly.

"Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen?" the maid asked in a too sweet voice that made him want to scowl. He kept his face free of that emotion however by years of practice. He had long ago learned not to show people what he really felt about them. They'd be horrified if they knew.

Sands shook his head. "No thank you." He didn't want the fucking false hospitality. He couldn't stand it. And even more, he really hated having people wait on his hand and foot. He wasn't a fucking child.

_And yet they treat you like one. Doesn't that piss you off?_

"Shut up," Sands muttered.

"Excuse me, sir?" the woman asked with a frown.

"I wasn't talking to you. Leave," Sands said evenly, tired of this woman's presence.

_You could just kill her, you know. That'd be a quick way to get rid of her._

"That wouldn't be quick at all," Sands muttered under his breath. "And I am not killing someone just because you think it might solve some of my problems. I am not a monster."

"I never said you were, sir," the young woman said in a slightly trembling voice. She looked scared of him.

_You like that, don't you? You like having her fear you. You get off on it, I can tell. Do you want to fuck her before you kill her? She's easy enough on the eyes. And no one would have to find out. We could be careful. You want her, don't you? You don't even need me to convince you._

Sands frowned as he thought about it. The voice was right. She _was_ easy on the eyes. With auburn hair that he knew would fall to at least her shoulder blades if he was to take it down, a slim figure and large breasts just begging to be held, she was definitely worthy of his notice. But it was her eyes that got him; wide bright blue eyes that were like two jewels set in a sea of cream that was her complexion. Yes, he definitely wanted her.

_Take her. _

But he wouldn't result to rape.

_Oh really?_

Not unless she fought him.

_That's better. You like their struggles. I know it. You like to be in control. You want to hear her scream. You're hard right now just thinking about it. _

"What is your name?" he asked the maid in a soft voice, moving past her to close the door. He didn't lock it, not yet.

"Alice, sir," she said in a voice matching his, staring up at him with those wide blue eyes of hers.

"Alice," he repeated in a seductive drawl. "What a beautiful name."

_Oh please. You hate it. Stop lying to yourself and just fuck her already._

"You-you really think so?" Alice asked timidly.

Sands very nearly rolled his own eyes at that, but somehow managed to stop himself in time. "Of course I do. I've noticed you from the first moment you started work here. Don't say that you haven't noticed me." He reached past her to lock the door.

She noticed what he was doing and her eyes grew impossibly wider. "What are you doing, sir?" Her voice had regained the slight tremor to it that Sands discovered he loved.

_I told you you got off on it. Just fucking take her already. You're wasting time. You know what? I don't think you're going to even do it. You're a fucking pussy, Sands; a mama's boy. And you know what? You'll always be one. You might as well just let her fucking go. She's obviously not going to get anything out of you, you spineless prick._

Instead of answering the voice aloud again like he had earlier, he glided towards Alice and kissed her long and deep. She squeaked against his mouth and her hands beat at his shoulders, but he didn't let up and she wasn't able to stop him even as he moved a hand to the front of her livery to squeeze one of her breasts.

"Sir, don't. We shouldn't. It's not right. What if your parents—"

_Oh that definitely wasn't the right thing to say. You shouldn't have said that sugarbutt. He's very prickly when it comes to talking about his parents. Haven't you noticed that?_

"What _about_ my parents?" Sands hissed, moving his hand from her chest to grab one of her wrists tightly.

"Please sir, you're hurting me. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear," the woman tried to plead with him.

"Oh I am, am I? Well what if I _like_ hurting you? What about that?" Sands asked curiously, not letting her go.

Alice whimpered and tried to squirm away from him. Sands held on fast. "Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone about this, I swear to you."

Sands laughed and Alice whimpered again at the sound. "I know you won't tell anyone about this. You won't get the chance to."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 21:57 PM

_You made a mess. And you've killed the person that's supposed to clean it up. Bravo._

"Leave me alone," Sands muttered, wiping the blood from his hands on the top sheet of his bed. It didn't really help much, but he just wanted it _off_. He didn't want to be covered in a dead girl's blood. Not really.

_I didn't hear you complaining a half an hour ago. I think you like the blood. You're lying to yourself, Sands. You enjoyed yourself. You enjoyed taking someone else's life. Well, _the voice laughed in Sands head, causing Sands to press his bloodied hands to his temples in an attempt to get it to stop, _you didn't just take her life, did you? You didn't stop there. And to think, you didn't even need my help at all. I think I should feel fucking offended. You did do a good job though. You should be proud. Congratulations, Sands. You are now not only a rapist, but a murderer as well. And you loved every minute of it._

"Shut up," Sands muttered, but he couldn't deny the truth of the voice's words. He _had_ enjoyed himself. He had liked killing her. What did that say about him? And fuck, he didn't just kill her, he fucking mutilated her.

_A fledgling killer's first attempt towards greatness.__ You didn't do too badly, actually. _

Sands tried to ignore him. It wasn't hard when faced with the results of what he had done. Blood was everywhere. On the bed, on him, Christ, it was even on the walls. Where had it all come from? How had it gotten there?

_You put it there, you fucking idiot. You said you liked the way it made patterns on the walls._

He didn't remember that at all. In fact, the last…however long he had been here…was somewhat fuzzy. He knew what he had done, there was clear evidence of that, but he couldn't really remember any of the actual_ doing._ He looked over at what had _once_ been the body of a beautiful young girl and frowned. He felt nothing; no regret, no sense of guilt, only confusion that he couldn't clearly remember having killed her. But he clearly had. With what, he was unsure. He didn't own any weapons; at least, he didn't think he did.

_A letter opener.__ A dull, flat, letter opener. That's what you used. It was quite interesting to watch, actually. Especially when you tried to cut her throat and it wouldn't work. That seemed to anger you somewhat._

Sands could practically hear the voices' smug smirk within his head. "Why did I do it? I'm not a killer," he said dully, shaking his head back and forth at the clear evidence that he was.

_Please. Stop deluding yourself. You're a killer. What do you think you just did? Normal people don't do that kind of thing. A normal person in a fit of homicidal rage might kill someone, but not like that. And you didn't feel any rage when you killed her, did you? You didn't feel anything. Well, except for when you found out you couldn't slit her throat with a dull letter opener. _

"I didn't feel anything," Sands acknowledged slowly. "I killed her and I didn't feel anything." Well he was certainly fucking feeling something now: fear. "I should have felt something. I took another human being's life. I should feel guilty. Why don't I feel guilty?"

_Because you're a sociopath.__ Haven't you ever wondered about this before? I thought you were supposed to be fucking smart. Going to college at 17? Does this ring any fucking bells, halfwit?_

"A sociopath? No, I can't be. It's not possible. I'm just in shock. That's it. That's all it is; shock."

The voice laughed again.

"Stop that. You're not even real. You made me do this. I didn't do it, you did. I haven't killed anyone," Sands argued, throwing himself out of bed, desperate to get away from the body and the blood. "I don't even know if this is real. It could be a dream; a _bad fucking dream. _That's what this is. It has to be."

_Listen to yourself. You're freaking right out, aren't you? The thought of actually have gotten laid once in his miserable life is just too much for the poor little mama's boy to handle._

"Shut up!" Sands yelled. "You don't know anything about me! You're not even there!"

_I've always been here, Sands. Always listening; always watching. I've just been waiting for my moment, and guess what, it's here. You did exactly what I wanted you to. How about that? And I didn't even really have to fucking persuade you. You were more than fucking happy to not only get a good fucking, but to kill her as well. Your first fuck and your first kill all in the same moment. Dear me, this isn't going to develop into a complex, is it?_ The voice asked with a manic laugh. _You're pathetic. I should have tried to take over years ago. If I known you were going to turn out into such a fucking pussy, I would have. _

"You're just a voice in my head. Why can't I get rid of you?" Sands moaned, clutching the sides of his head again, leaving bloodied handprints on his skin. He didn't seem to notice.

_Because I am a part of you, Sands. You'll never be able to get rid of me. I'll be with you forever._

"Oh yeah?" Sands asked with a desperate laugh that made the voice a little nervous. "We'll see about that."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 23:36 PM

_What the fuck are you doing, Sands? Don't do anything crazy now, alright?_

"I thought you told me that I _was_ crazy? Well, I'm just doing what comes naturally," Sands answered in a two calm voice for someone who was walking back to their house carrying a can of gasoline in each bloodied hand from the car garage. "I'm going to burn this fucking house to the ground."

_Oh, a little arson. Always a fucking cathartic thing for me—_

"And I'm going up with it. My parents too. That's what you wanted, right? Well congratulations, you're getting it. My parents will be dead in one fiery swoop."

_Well good for you. Death to the bastards. I'll even help if you want me to—wait a fucking minute. You said you were going up with them. What are you fucking talking about, you crazy son of a bitch?_

"You fucking heard me. I'd rather be dead than spend the rest of my life taking orders from you," Sands hissed. The voice had a response to that, but Sands ignored it. He knew what he had to do. This had to end. If he truly was a killer, then he couldn't be allowed to run free.

_If that's what you really think, then why not just kill yourself? Why kill your parents as well?_ The voice asked smugly. _And you don't really expect your parents to just lie down and die, do you? There are easier ways to fucking skin a cat, Sheldon. _

"Call me that again and I swear I'll put a gun to my head and blow our collective brains out," Sands said evenly as he silently climbed a side stairway up to the rooms where his parents slept.

_Don't get your nose all bent out of shape, Sands. It **is**__your name, you know. And you didn't answer my question. _

"Because I want them fucking dead," he said simply. "I didn't care about the girl. I had no feelings whatsoever for her."

_But you feel for your parents, don't you? You fucking hate them. It hasn't always been that way, you recall, but as of late that's all you feel towards them, isn't it? An all-encompassing hate. Well, that and a strong desire to see them dead. I'm sure I fucking blame you, really. They never loved you, Sands. You know that as well as I do. And killing them **will** make you feel better. But you won't get a fucking chance to feel anything if you fucking kill yourself too!_

"I don't care. I just want it over. I'm fucking tired of this," he said wearily as he stopped in front of the door to his father's room. It was a toss up if his mother was there with him or not tonight-she often slept in her own room at the other end of the house-but he was feeling inexplicably lucky. There was no cause to feel this way, especially given his day, but he felt it all the same. It was as if this was meant to happen. Perhaps it was.

_If you truly believe that, you're dumber than I fucking thought you were, and that's saying a lot. There's no such thing as fate. We make our own destinies. _

"Then this is me making mine," he murmured as he set one of the containers of gasoline down so he could push the door open.

_Wait! What if they're still awake? What are you going to do then, genius?_

But it was too late. Sands had already pushed the door open to enter the master bedroom, immediately going very still and silent. It was dark, that was a good sign, and his parents generally went to bed almost two hours earlier, so he thought he was ok.

_For now.__ Are they both even here?_

Sands squinted into the darkness. Yes, it seemed that there were indeed two figures on the bed, each of them turned away from another and as close to the edge as they could possibly be. In a king size bed this was pretty far. He just hoped that the woman in bed with his father was his mother or else he'd have to make two trips. But his luck held. As he drew closer, he could see the sleeping profile of his mother Sara clearly. She was a beautiful woman in every way except on the inside. Beneath the lovely outer shell was a cold hearted bitch who only cared about her appearance, her money and possessions, and her fucking rose garden. He hated the last most of all because he had genuinely grown to like the rows of delicate flowers too and she knew it. She knew the power she held over him as only a mother could. He hated her.

He turned his now even more hateful gaze to his father's sleeping form. For a brief moment he debated which one he hated more and couldn't come to a decision. His father was one cold son of a bitch. Always had been, always would be. He only cared about furthering Sands' education through any means necessary and grooming him to take over the investment firm he ran someday. That was it. Sands knew he was to be a replacement. Not a son, an heir. His father wasn't someone you could talk to; he was someone who forced you to listen to him. His will was law, and he quite frequently laid down that law. There were only two things that existed in Anthony Sands' world: his work, and his money. In that order. There wasn't room for anything else. The only reason he had started a family was that it was expected of him. Just as it would be expected of Sands someday. He already knew he never wanted to get married; never wanted children. Any progeny of his would end up just like he had. It was a grim thought, but it wasn't necessarily a wrong one.

_Are you going to fucking do it or just stand there looking at them? _

The voice was right. The time for waiting was over. It was time to act. He began pouring the gasoline.

WWW

Sands slid down the wall outside his parents' bedroom, his hair and clothing reeking of gasoline, smoke and burnt flesh. He had left the doors open so the fire could spread more easily, but for the moment neither flames nor his mother came out. He had seen to the latter. The screaming had only just stopped and he knew in the grim silence that followed afterwards that he had been successful. His parents were dead. He wouldn't have to deal with them ever again. Nothing could hurt him now.

_Nothing except for me,_ the voice said evenly. _Get off your ass and get the hell out of here Sands. I refuse to let you kill me. We're getting out of here if I have to drag your lazy ass every inch of the way. _

"You can't. You're not real," Sands murmured with a hacking cough as the hall began to fill with smoke. He could see flames on the ceiling now as well. They spread down the hall like liquid; consuming the old wood of the mansion that had been in Sands' family for centuries without hesitation or consideration for the loss of something that had meant so much to so many people. Sands just wanted to watch it burn.

_Well I'm not going to let you. Deal with it._

"Leave me alone. This is what I want. Their fucking dead and I'm tired of it all. I'm going to sit here and let the fucking fire come. Engulfed in flame; consumed by fire; cremated alive. You can't stop me. No one can." Sands coughed again, his head beginning to spin from smoke inhalation. He would lose consciousness soon and then he would be free.

_You'll never be free. We're getting the fuck out of here whether you want to or now. Now come on._

Sands didn't answer. He didn't want to answer. He just wanted to close his eyes and not wake up. That's it. That's all he wanted. Fuck college, fuck any future life he might have had; this was it. This was where life ended. No bang, certainly not any fucking whimpers if he could help himself, just an end. He didn't believe in any kind of afterlife. He didn't want to. He wanted oblivion when he died; nothingness.

_With your luck you'd wind up in hell and take me with you, you fucking crazy bastard, _the voice muttered. _Fuck that. You're coming with me_.

Sands just laughed. He realised that it would help speed things up if he stood up so that he was closer to the smoke, so that was what he did. He nearly fell back down again as he began to cough violently, but he held his footing and breathed deep.

_You're going to get us killed!_ The voice shouted within Sands' head as he looked up to the ceiling and the wave of flame that passed overhead. He reached out to touch those flames, but they were too high for him to reach and too hot for him to stand being close to for very long. He pulled his arm back and watched the place burn as spots began to dance around the edges of his vision. He could see the expensive paintings his mother had meticulously collected melting, and it brought a smile to his face to see such destruction. Fire had been the right thing to kill his parents with. Fire was pure; without cause or motivation. It had only one purpose: to burn. It didn't matter what was in its way, whether it be living or dead, it burned all with equal prejudice. It was beautiful.

_Fine, it's fucking beautiful. But wouldn't it be even more so to see on the outside? Just think, Sands. The entire place will be burning. You can watch it until its ash if you want. We won't let anyone stop you. Don't you want that? I know; you can even sit in the rose garden._

Sands shook his head. "Don't want to see it. I want to die in it. No survivors. No witnesses." His voice was a raspy whisper now but still he stood, breathing in smoke.

_NO! I WILL **NOT** LET YOU KILL ME!_ The voice screamed.

Sands just laughed again as he finally fell to his knees, his oxygen-deprived body unable to hold itself up anymore. "You have no choice. This is mychoice and I've made it. I choose oblivion."

Sands dimly heard the voice practically roar in rage and frustration before he finally succumbed to the darkness with an expectant smile on his face as he waited for the fires to come.

WWW

Washington DC, 12 March, 1986, 0:13 AM

"That's right, son. Just breathe deep now. You'll be ok," a voice drifted into Sands consciousness. He frowned, not understanding. He reached a hand up to his face to remove whatever it was that was covering his mouth and nose, but a firm hand stopped him. "You breathed in a lot of smoke, understand? You need to breathe the oxygen for awhile to re-oxygenate your blood or you'll have real problems."

Sands didn't care. He wanted to know what was happening and he wanted to know now. He was supposed to be dead. Was this death? Was the voice right and this was hell? He wasn't sure. He pushed the oxygen mask away from him and sat up. He collapsed back down again immediately afterwards.

"Hold on there big man, you've had quite an ordeal. I wouldn't get up right away if I were you. Now, you just lie here and let me look after you, alright? I promise someone will tell you what's happening soon if that's what you're trying to figure out. You were in a fire. That's all I can tell you right now, buddy." Sands tried to question this, but he couldn't form a clear sentence through a sudden onset of coughing and wheezing that had the people around him scurrying to put the mask back on his face. "Don't try to talk. You're throat is swollen from the smoke inhalation. That's why it's so hard to breathe as well. But no worries, we'll get you set right soon."

Sands tried to shake his head; tried to tell them that he didn't want to be "set right" but they didn't understand him. He didn't want their help. He had wanted to die. Why hadn't they let him die? Who had gotten him out of there? The last thing he remembered was fire—no…wait. There was something else… A rose. A rose framed in flame. Why was he thinking about that now? He hadn't seen it? He couldn't have. He was passed out.

"You're lucky we found you when we did, you know buddy? Just sitting there in the garden. I've seen some pretty strange things in this job but I think that has to be hitting the top of the list. It was like you didn't even know you were there. Know anything about that, kid?"

Sands obviously couldn't answer because of the mask, but glared at the man in an attempt to get him to stop calling him 'kid.'

"Hey, what's wrong now, kid?" If Sands could have sighed, he would have.

WWW

Present Day

"Alice," Sands murmured, ducking as a bullet ricocheted over his head.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Jeffrey asked. "And why now? We're being fucking shot at if you haven't noticed!"

"I remember Alice. I killed her. You told me to kill her," Sands said with a scowl.

"Who?"

"Alice," Sands hissed loudly. "The night I killed my parents. You had me kill her."

"Oh, you mean that busty maid that you fucked and killed before torching the place? Hey, that was your idea, not mine. I merely gave you a push in the right direction." Another shot ricocheted overhead. "But now really isn't the time to talk about it."

"Oh fuck them," Sands said, jerking the gun they held towards where Emily and Roland were shooting at them. "I'm asking you about Alice. Why did you want me to kill her?"

"You're obviously not remembering everything yet. _I _didn't want to kill her. I just wanted you to fuck her so that I could too." He shrugged. "I don't recommend living life by proxy, by the way; very unsatisfying. You're the one who wanted to kill her. And you're the one who in fact did. And you made quite a fucking mess of it, if I recall. You're lucky the fucking fire took care of all the evidence for you. Otherwise you might have burnt down one home only to end up in a new one behind fucking bars. Lucky, lucky, lucky."

"Think about it, Sands! You haven't got any spare clips left and we both know it! Officer Brisbane and I can just keep shooting at you until you run out! That, and backup's already on its way! Just give yourself up, you murderous bastard!" Roland shouted over the gunfire.

"Shove it up your ass, Rivers!" Jeffrey yelled back with a smirk. This was actually kind of fun, near death experiences notwithstanding.

"You're insane, you know that?" Sands muttered, picking up on some of Jeffrey's carefree emotions.

Jeffrey laughed. "Pot? I'm kettle," he said wryly.

"Oh shut up. The bastard's right, you know. We're running out of bullets more quickly than I'd like and we don't have anymore. Once we run out, we're basically fucked."

"Basically," Jeffrey agreed, firing another round in Roland and Emily's direction.

"Jeffrey! You're not helping! Have you been listening to a fucking word I've been saying? We need to _conserve_ our ammunition!"

"Oh, I'll say at least one for each of them. Don't you fucking worry."

"I'm going to worry anyway, so deal with it you crazy bastard. You know as well as I do that Rivers isn't bluffing when he said that he's got more CIA fuckwits coming to save his sorry ass. You better save some bullets for them too."

"Oh. Right. Fuck. We need to get fucking out of here before that happens."

"No shit," Sands muttered with a roll of his eyes. "But where do you suggest we fucking go? We have barely enough cover to not get shot as it is, and no fucking hostages to bargain with."

"Well then let's go where there are hostages then. This is a hospital if you haven't noticed, Sands."

"I was aware of that, thank you," Sands said dryly. "How are we going to get to these so-called hostages anyway? We're fucking pinned down by a pair of pissed off and accurate shooters. Not to mention we still have a fucking bullet lodged in our chest," Sands said with a wince as he rubbed a gentle hand across his aching chest. It felt as if a weight had been pressed on top of it, making it incredibly hard to breathe properly.

"Easy. We run," Jeffrey said simply. Before Sands could ask any more questions, they were already racing down the hall amidst the sound of echoing gunfire.

TBC

A/N: Done! Whoa I thought this chapter would never end! I sincerely hoped you liked the insight into Sands' life pre-Jeffrey. The wonderful Lady Arenas egged me on to write it and I have to say, I was a little surprised at how much Sands had to say. Anyway, I hope you liked what I came up with. Please continue to send me your comments and reviews. Thank you!


	22. Dealing with the Devil

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: A million, million times sorry for not having this up sooner. I blame Jeffrey. -)

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Dealing With the Devil

_This is a bad idea. Strike that. This is very fucking bad idea. _The thought skittered across the surface of Sands' mind as he fled the two incensed CIA agents. _With my fucking luck they're probably both expert marksmen as well. _

Jeffrey didn't care about Sands' fears or even his thoughts. He knew only this: that he had to run. He would not pay attention to the throbbing in his chest, stealing each breath away before giving it back coated in the bright blood. He would ignore the furious shouts from behind him; the voices of the agonised left behind. He had killed their third and he knew they would make him pay for it if they could. The games had finally reached an end. The score was still being tallied. The crowd was going home and darkness was descending upon a field scarred by bodies and blood. It didn't matter. He had tired of the game. It wasn't any fun anymore. He didn't want to run anymore either, but he had no choice. It was the chase or death.

"You're rather be dead than caught, wouldn't you?" Sands asked breathlessly as they tore down the empty corridors as if the devil himself were hot on their heels. Roland Rivers was hardly the devil, but he'd send them to hell all the same were they caught.

Jeffrey didn't bother answering. His answer was clear enough. Sands knew that before the words had fully passed his lips. He just kept running, not bothering to speak. Speaking now cost oxygen they couldn't afford to spare. Not with the bullet biting, suffocating, killing. He could feel blood frothing on his lips now and knew he couldn't keep running for very much longer. He had to have some kind of leverage by then. Some kind of plan.

Detailed scenarios ran through his head at the speed of thought, the majority ended with a vision of himself lying in an ever-widening pool of his own blood as his eyes grew glassy and his breath short. His options were vanishing before his eyes and he could do nothing to slow them down. The world was spinning out of his control and he knew it. He could feel oblivion calling and he had to quicken his pace before he was crushed by the falling curtain.

"Damn it," Jeffrey murmured. His thoughts were running off with him, and he was becoming annoyingly verbose. He forced himself to narrow his focus to run, hide, kill.

A bullet whizzed past his head close enough for him to feel the sting of its path on his cheek and his focus was narrowed even more. The game had apparently not ended for the two CIA agents chasing him, and he now knew without a doubt that they were playing for keeps.

Roland cursed as his bullet missed its target, his face going tight with frustration and rage. While he was more than determined to capture and kill his prey, Sands knew he was running for his life and the sharp knowledge gave him speed and agility that he wouldn't have had otherwise. But even if Sands was running on pure adrenalin, he and Emily would run him to ground soon enough. Roland could feel it in his bones that this was the end. Sands would not get away from them again.

"He's bleeding heavily now," Emily commented, a devious grin marring her lovely features. If there was anyone else on this earth who wanted to see Sands pay for his crimes more than Roland did, it was her. At first, she had seemed almost cavalier regarding Yvette's death when it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that it was eating him alive. But with her, it simply wasn't there. She didn't show her grief like others did. She pushed it all aside with dirty jokes and thinly veiled innuendoes. That was just how she was. But now with the death of two of her closest, maybe even her only friends, she was out for blood.

Roland nodded in response to her comment, but couldn't stop himself from adding, "Just remember, a wounded animal will fight twice as hard as a healthy one will. And this fucking place is practically a den of bad hostage scenarios."

"I haven't forgotten," Emily said in clipped tones. She didn't appreciate him telling her what he already knew anymore than he would have. Roland understood this, but reminded her anyway. The last thing they needed was for this to turn into some kind of bloody shootout like the last time they had been faced up against him.

"Good," Roland answered in a tone to match hers. He hadn't been trying to upset or underestimate her; he just wanted to make sure where they stood. There was no room for error now and he wanted to make sure she knew that. He _needed _her to understand that. He needed her to understand that he couldn't lose her. He had lost too many on the very short list of those he cared for already. He tried to brush it all off like he was unaffected; like he was every bit as uncaring of their deaths as Sands himself was. Emily saw through that lie. She saw that he was barely holding onto his sanity in the midst of such overwhelming loss and rage, she saw that he needed his vengeance. She understood that need for she clearly felt it herself. She wanted to taste Sands blood as he did, perhaps even more. She wanted to see that bastard pay for the lives he had ruined. And she would.

WWW

"We are so fucked," Jeffrey was forced to admit as he wiped a trail of bloodied saliva from his chin. Its presence concerned him more than a little, the bullet in his lung grimly making itself known. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not fucking giving up or anything, I'm just saying."

"We have been in better situations than this, yes," Sands acknowledged, trying to ignore the pain coursing through him. He vaguely wished he had asked the doctor who had treated him for some painkillers, but he knew then as he knew now that he couldn't afford to have his senses dulled by drugs ever again. He needed the pain to help him focus on staying alive. The pain assured him that he still walked this earth. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't poetic, it was life.

"We're running out of bullets too, you know. If we're going to do something to get ourselves out of this fucking shitstorm we find ourselves in, it had better be quick," Jeffrey needlessly reminded him.

Sands didn't bother answering such an obvious comment, knowing they didn't have time to banter. He just kept running in the direction he hoped the exit was in. He might have stopped to glance at many of the directories he passed to figure out just where he was, but there was no time. He couldn't afford to stop now. If he did then it would be over. He refused to let it end like this; running through expressionless halls for his life, dreading, fearing the sting of a bullet tearing through muscle and bone without prejudice as one of his pursuers hit their mark. And yet…that would be a far preferable end to being caught. He'd rather go out in a blaze of blood and bodies than live the rest of his life in a white-walled prison somewhere. Maybe he could plead guilty and ask for the death penalty if that happened. Had anyone ever asked for the death penalty before? He didn't think they had. The idea was too ludicrous for anyone but the truly insane to consider. Sands considered it. He didn't know if Jeffrey agreed. He didn't care. Jeffrey didn't matter. It wasn't Jeffrey's life that would be at stake, it was his.

"Your life is no longer your own. It hasn't been for quite awhile now," Jeffrey said simply, picking up on Sands' thoughts.

"Fuck you. You're only a voice in my head that has caused me nothing but problems since I first acknowledged you. I should have checked myself into an institution or put a bullet through my head that day."

"Who's to say you didn't? Maybe you're in a hospital right now imagining all of this? Maybe they've got you so doped up that you can't even remember who you are let alone what's real anymore?"

"Why stop there?" Sands asked, bitterly going along with the game even though he knew he had neither the strength nor the time for this. "Maybe we're both figments of someone's twisted imagination. Maybe there is no Sands or Jeffrey at all. Maybe we're both disassociative identities of a disassociative identity. Ever wonder about that?"

"Can't say I have, actually," Jeffrey said honestly, amused where Sands was going with this. "And I can also say that I have never questioned my own reality. Only yours."

"Oh what, you think that maybe I'm a voice in _your_ head? Please. You're deluding yourself. You're not real any more than the Tooth fairy or Santa Clause are. You're nothing but a figment of a fragmented mind, Jeffrey. That's all you ever were."

"'A figment of a fractured mind,' huh? I almost like that. It has a nice ring to it," Jeffrey said wryly. "Well no matter. It that title truly is fitting then know this: I might be a fucking figment but I won't stop until I've shattered your mind completely in preparation to take over. I can and will survive without you, but it's obvious you can't do the same without me. You created me, Sands. It wasn't the other way around."

"Then since I am your god, I will find a way to damn you should you go against my will, Jeffrey. Keep that in mind."

"If you're my god then I guess it's fortunate that I'm an atheist," Jeffrey growled at him. He had been about to go on when they suddenly found themselves in the lobby surrounded by a few armed guards and a great many terrified patients. He wasted no time in grabbing a young woman and putting his stolen gun to her head before the guards could pull their heads out of their asses and figure out what was going on.

"Let her go! Drop the gun!" was yelled among the din of all-out pandemonium. Men, women and children alike immediately began screaming and trying to flee the sudden danger they more felt than understood. The woman under his borrowed gun began to sob quietly, probably expecting to be killed any time now. It was ironic actually. She had probably come to the hospital to be saved or to see someone saved and yet here she was at death's very door. Life was funny sometimes.

"What do you think I am, stupid?" Jeffrey asked with a laugh. "Or better yet, do you honestly believe that that _ever_ works? I mean come on. Honestly, you can do better than that. How about a 'drop the gun punk or I'll blow your fucking head off?' See now that I would respect. Well ok, I probably wouldn't respect anything coming from the two of you but you could at least put forth a little effort. This woman's life is in your hands and you're stuck on clichés. Pathetic, utterly pathetic."

"Jeffrey, shut up. You do realise that they won't hesitate to shoot us if they get the chance," Sands hissed under his breath, pressing the barrel of the gun into the woman's temple hard enough to elicit a whimper from her as he eyed the two security guards warily.

"Oh fuck them. They're not going to shoot us. They're too afraid they'll miss and take out pretty miss hostage here's pretty little head. Isn't that right? They don't want to accidentally splatter me with her brains in front of all these frightened witnesses." The woman whimpered louder at Jeffrey's callous words. "Hush now, dearie. It will all be over soon. I promise," he said evilly, grinning wide when she began to tremble in his arms.

Sands just rolled his eyes at Jeffrey's behavior and continued staring down the guards, wondering what would happen when Rivers and his red-headed whore showed up. He had thought they had been right behind him as he ran through the halls but apparently he had been mistaken.

"Maybe they got fucking lost," Jeffrey snorted.

Sands somehow doubted it but he couldn't help but smile as Jeffrey's infectious inappropriate humor filled him as well. "He's right, you know," he addressed the young woman. "This will all be over soon."

"Please let me go," the woman pleaded in a trembling voice. "I have done nothing to you."

"Now that's not entirely true. You got in our way," Jeffrey said with a sardonic grin. "But there's no need to worry, little lady. We haven't killed every person that's gotten in our way. Just most of them. And if you faint on me I'm most certainly going to kill you. And I'll make sure you're awake for it," he warned when he saw her face pale dramatically.

"Jeffrey, stop teasing her. If you're going to kill her, just do it. Don't play games."

"Let go of the girl right now you sick son of a bitch or I swear I'll put a bullet straight between your eyes."

"See, now that's what I'm talking about. Hi, Agent Rivers. Did you miss us?" Jeffrey asked cheerfully.

"Like a bullet in the lung. How's yours feeling by the way?" Roland responded coldly.

"I didn't know you cared," Jeffrey drawled before wiping at his bloodied chin once more.

Roland's gave followed the movement yet his gun never wavered from its aim between Sands' eyes. "I don't. I just want to make sure you don't die before I've had a chance to kill you myself."

"Oh I don't know about that. I think Miss Emily might be inclined to make you wait your turn," Jeffrey said with a grin as Emily strode up next to Roland, her own gun aimed in a lower yet no less fatal position as well. "Nice to see you again, sugarbutt," Jeffrey leered in her direction. "It's a shame I had to kill your friend. She tasted like strawberries. What fun the three of us might have had together."

"Speak about Susannah like that again, and I'll blow your dick off," Emily growled.

"Oo, feisty. I'd love a chance to break you, sweetness," Jeffrey drawled wickedly.

"Take one step towards her and you're a dead man," Roland hissed.

"And Rivers flies to the rescue as always. He seems awfully protective of your virtue, Emily. Are you two fuckbuddies now? Well fuck me sideways with a shovel. Look at him bristle at that. You are! I must say, I didn't see that coming. How long has it been since I killed your last lover, Rivers? Days by my reckoning. Unless you were boinking Susannah too. If so, then it hasn't even been an hour yet. In either case, you seem to go through women like a fifty-cent whore. What the fuck do you see in him? Does he give good head? Is that it?" Jeffrey laughed. "Look at his fucking face. I think he wants to kill us despite our pretty miss hostage."

"Enough of this," Sands said firmly, tired of all the games. "We're going to walk out of here without incident. Do understand? Unless you want this girl," he tapped the barrel of the gun on the woman's temple for emphasis, "to be yet another on the list of people you've gotten killed for fucking with me then you're going to do what I say." He raised his voice to address the frightened crowd around them, patients and doctors either too scared or to sick to do anything but watch, "You hear that everyone? This woman's life is in his hands. Introduce yourself, Rivers. No? Fine. He, ladies and gentlemen, is Agent Roland Rivers of the CIA. He's been chasing me for quite awhile now, and he's gotten quite a few people killed in the process. If you don't want to be one of those people, don't let him come after me. I swear to you that I won't kill a single person in this room if you just let us leave. That includes you," he said to his hostage. "This young woman's life is in your hands too. And none of you want to see me put a bullet between her lovely hazel eyes, do you? What is your name?" he asked her directly.

"Cl-Clara," the girl stuttered.

"And how old are you?"

"S-S-Seventeen."

"Clara, aged 17, about to be shot because of an overzealous pair of law enforcement officers decided they rather see me dead than take your safety into account."

"Please," Clara implored Roland and Emily softly as the two security guards had already lowered their guns. "Don't let him hurt me."

"Damn you, Sands," Roland hissed becoming acutely aware that every eye in the room was fixed on he and Emily.

Sands couldn't help but smile at the predicament he found himself in: a known killer becoming the good guy in potential victims' eyes just because he knew how to bargain better than the CIA did. It was nothing short of hilarious, to say the least. He forced himself to drop the smile and grow serious once more, however. It wouldn't be prudent to allow his audience to see just how much he was enjoying this. He might have lost their fragile favor if that were to happen. "Put down your guns, let me walk out of here and no one will get hurt. Not you, not Emily not Miss Clara here, no one. I just want to leave." He coughed violently again, spitting out a wad of blood on to the floor that made everyone within line of sight wince in disgust. "As you can see, I'm probably not going to get very far anyway, so what do you have to lose?"

The look on Roland's face was one of picturesque rage, and Sands very nearly smiled again to see it. The CIA officer looked back and forth at the enraptured crowd, knowing they would hang him were he to take the shot anyway. He probably could have made it-he was a near perfect marksman-but even if he did, the people in this room would see his career ended. The parents of the young hostage would no doubt sue for willful endangerment or some such bullshit and suck him dry of ever last dime as well. Was all of that worth taking one man down? Before he could come to a decision, Emily made it for him by lowering her gun. He had no choice but to follow suit.

"Good," Sands nodded, disbelieving of how well this was going. "Now drop your guns to the ground and kick them toward me." He didn't plan on picking either of them up; he just wanted them far away from itchy trigger fingers. Roland and Emily gave a seemingly choreographed scowl but did as he ordered. Once the two handguns had slid across the polished tile floor to Sands' feet, he further kicked them away into a corner so Roland or Emily wouldn't be able to retrieve their gun and shoot him in the back once he had turned to flee.

_Just don't turn your back on them. Easy enough,_ Jeffrey suggested. _It won't be a surprise if you can see it coming._

Sands intended to do just that. He had no doubt in his mind that if given the opportunity, Roland would shoot him in the back as he made his escape. "On your knees, both of you," he further ordered.

"Why? So you can execute us both more easily? Doesn't sound very sporting, Sands," Emily said dryly. "Especially if you want the people in this room to believe that you want nothing more than to escape."

"You can go fuck yourself because I'm not doing anything else for you. IF you want to go, then fucking go. I'm tired of your games. Know this however, I _will_ find you again and I _will_ kill you," Roland hissed.

"You've had your chances, Roland buddy. You've failed each time. I've come closer to ending your life than you have mine," Jeffrey taunted, enjoying the way Roland's fair skin flushed in anger. His hand didn't move to the scabbed over cut across his neck though as Jeffrey made a point took at it, so he had to give him a little credit for that at least.

"I've fucking shot you in the chest. You don't consider that life-threatening?" Roland responded, quickly regaining his composure.

"So what? It's not such an accomplishment. Your trained whore put a bullet through my lung before I killed her and it hasn't stopped me any." Clara trembled in his arms at his words. "Oh stop your sniveling. I already said I wasn't going to kill you," Jeffrey said with an irritated scowl. "Well actually Sands did, so I could claim an out…" Jeffrey trailed off with a laugh. "Jesus, look at your face. I'm not going to kill you Clara, you amuse me too much."

"Just let her go, Sands. We're unarmed. You don't need her to get out of here," Emily tried reasoning with him.

"I'm Jeffrey, not Sands. I would have thought you would have been able to tell the difference by now. Oh well. Let it never be said that it takes a certain amount of intelligence to join the CIA. Hell, I bet I could join if I wanted to," he said wryly.

"You'd never pass the psych evaluation. Let alone the fact that you're a wanted serial killer might give the director pause," Emily said dryly.

Jeffrey just shrugged. In truth, he now felt the stirrings of a strong urge to prove her wrong because she said he couldn't do it. He had no real desire to tie himself to a faceless, boring branch of the US Government other than the thought that someone didn't think he'd be able to. He'd never been one to back down from a challenge. But that was neither here nor there. He had to get out of this fucking situation first before he could start planning his future. "Well it's been fun, but I'm afraid I must leave you all," he addressed the room at large. "Sorry to maim and run but you know how it is. Oh, and if you get a chance to talk to that bitch doctor of mine, be sure and tell her that if I ever see her again it will be in the mere moments before her blood is on my hands. Thanks," Jeffrey said cheerfully, backing towards the door, Clara in tow.

Roland clenched his fists at his sides in rage as he watched Jeffrey back out of the room. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't _allow_ it to happen. Not when he had been so close to bringing this monster to the end he so deserved. His eyes locked with the young woman's-Clara's-and as he glimpsed the utter terror and fear in her wide eyes he made his decision, hoping fervently that it was the right one. If it wasn't…if he was risking a young girl's life on a misinformed choice…well he didn't want to think about that right now. He steadied his now slightly trembling hands with thoughts of how many people he would be saving if he were to catch Sands now. And if there was to be once more innocent lost in the process…well the many outweighed the one. He had to believe that. He had to believe that he was making the right choice or else all would be lost and her death-if it came to that-would have been meaningless.

Hopefully moving faster than Sands could react, Roland's hand moved in his pocket to pull out the butterfly knife he had only recently started carrying again after Sands had almost slit his throat and flipped it open deftly. Taking a moment to pray that his aim was true and that he wasn't about to kill the young girl himself, Roland let the knife fly towards Sands retreating figure.

Before Jeffrey even had time to realise what was happening as his gun fell out of a ridged hand that seemed to have a knife through it, his hostage had fled and he found himself tackled to the ground. He only had moments to scream in pain and outrage at his wounded hand before he saw a strong fist coming into his line of sight and everything was darkness.

WWW

Consciousness was a passing dream; a memory maybe? He wasn't so sure. He knew nothing of time, of life, nothing. He thought he must know something about death because this was surely what it was; the never-ending void of nothingness. This had to be death. Heaven and Hell it seemed did not exist. Only oblivion embraced him now. Thought was insubstantial and inconsequential. Not that thought was needed here. He had dim recollections of faces and voices belonging to those faces but he couldn't grab ahold of any of them long enough to discern their meanings. Maybe this is what death was really like; separated by the thinnest of veils to reality, able to see and hear all just enough to know you were awake but not enough to do anything to affect anything. He hoped not. That sounded closer to his vision of hell than death. He'd rather an eternity of fire and damnation than one of helplessness.

"I think he's coming around." A voice floated through the veil, and he would have frowned if he could gather the strength. _At least I have a body to frown with,_ he thought suddenly, _even if it is a rather weak one at the moment._ "Mr. Sands? Can you hear me?"

His almost-frown deepened. Who was calling him? An angel? The devil himself? He didn't bother trying to answer. Whoever it was could just go away and bother someone else. If this truly was hell, then they had millions upon millions of other condemned souls to torture. They could leave him be; for at least a little while, anyway.

"We know you're awake, Sands so you can cut the bullshit," a voice growled in his ear. "Your ass belongs to me now," it further hissed. "And God as my witness, I'll see you fry."

"DC doesn't have a death penalty," Sands said hoarsely, figuring that since the voice refused to leave him alone he had might as well talk to it. Who knew how long it would be until he heard another voice besides his own?

He could hear the distinct grinding of teeth and decided that that must not have been what the voice had wanted to hear. It didn't seem to deter him-him? Was the voice male-any however. "While that might be true, there's one in Maryland, you sick son of a bitch."

"But I thought I was already dead?" Sands asked the faceless voice confusedly. "If I'm already dead then how can they execute me? You're not making any sense, annoying voice. Go away and let me be."

The voice laughed then and Sands didn't appreciate _that_ at all. "Open your eyes. You're not dead Sands, but once I'm through with you, you'll wish you were."

Sands didn't want to obey, but morbid curiosity got the better of him. His dark eyes reflected the too bright light of the room he found himself in and shut tightly once more before he could stop himself. He tried to rub at them but he found to his confusion and growing horror that he couldn't move.

"Yeah well we thought it'd be best to make sure you weren't able to escape a second time," Roland-he now knew it had to be Roland's voice even without seeing him-drawled bemusedly.

"What-what is this?" Sands asked, finding he could barely even turn his head to look at his captor. He didn't have to be able to look to know that his hands and feet were bound in five-point restraints and there was a belt strapping him to the bed despite the nauseating pain emanating from his chest where the bullet had been. He didn't feel as if he were about to drown in his own blood at any moment anymore, so he figured they must have taken it out. His hand was also screaming at him as well but not as loud as it probably should have been considering it had had a knife sticking out of it last time he checked, so that probably meant he was drugged to the gills as well.

"This, you sick bastard, is where I get to break you. While you are under medical supervision, that's true, I've given more leeway than you could possibly dream considering what you have done to the people of this hospital. It's never a good idea to bite the hand that feeds you, Sands. And an even worse idea to cut it off. And that bitch, Dr. Harrington isn't someone I'd want to get on the bad side of anytime soon. Too bad for you," Roland said mockingly.

"So what, you're going to torture us? Well fuck me sideways with a broken broom handle. I didn't think you had it in you, Rivers. I should have known you were just like me though. Who else would be able to catch us twice? Only someone who knows how we think because he thinks that way himself."

"You will be _nothing_ when I'm through with you. You will be a broken, sniveling kid _begging _to be put to death. I promise you that," Roland hissed.

"Do you really? Promise? Does that red-headed firebrand of yours get to torture me too? Because I have to say, I'm going to enjoy that quite a bit," Jeffrey drawled, utterly undaunted by Roland's threats. Not able to raise their hands to protect themselves, they had felt the full force of Roland's blow, causing spots to dance before their eyes and their vision to double. "Oo, hit me again you big strong man," Jeffrey taunted. "You'll have to try harder than that if you want to get through the painkillers they gave me."

Roland did try harder; with pleasure.

"Oh I felt that one," Jeffrey said with a couple of blinks to regain his equilibrium after Rivers had sent his world spinning. "That was nice. Thanks. Does it feel good to beat someone who can't defend themselves? Do you get off on it? Look at your face, of course you do." That earned him another sock to the jaw. "Not to give you incentive or anything, but if you break my jaw I won't be able to plead my innocence at my trial. So could you keep that in mind? Thanks ever so. Oh and I'm sure the jury will love to see me beaten within an inch of my life. Think I could win them over? I can be very charming, you know. I would have them eating out of my skewered hand in no time."

Roland smiled, and it was a grim thing. "I can make sure your trial is pushed back until you're properly healed. Don't worry about that."

"Oh. Well I'm glad to see you're thinking ahead…" Jeffrey said slowly, his footing lost.

"Always, Mr. Sands. Always," Roland agreed before continuing to beat Jeffrey within an inch of his life. Sands for his part tried very hard not to scream.

TBC

A/N: Yes, I am evil. Yes, I know this. Thank you. -) Despite that, I hope you liked it. Thank you a million to all of you who have reviewed last chapter; Arenas, meow, Blue Trinity, JohnnyDEPPmaniac and AJB. This chapter is for you guys!


	23. Second Guesses and Negotiations

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Sorry I couldn't get this up as soon as I wrote the last chapter of A Gilded Cage, but unfortunately studying for a stats test interfered. I would have complained to my professor that I needed to write this instead, but I don't think he would have been quite as understanding as all of you.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Second Guesses and Negotiation

"Jesus, Roland. I know you said you wanted to make the man suffer, but do you think that just _maybe_ you might have gone overboard a little?" Emily asked with a frown as the doctors were called in to attend to Sands' broken and battered body. "I mean…I wanted him to suffer too for what he had done to Sus, but this? What have we done, Roland?"

"He'll be alright. I didn't kill him," Roland said hesitantly, his eyes locked upon Sands' bloodied form. "God I'm just like him now," he whispered.

"Roland, no you're not—"

"Look at what I've done to him, for fuck's sake! He was defenseless, Emily. He was tied up and I knew it. I knew it and it didn't stop me. _He _didn't stop me…" Roland murmured with a frown. "He didn't even try. He just kept encouraging me. Why the fuck would he do that?"

Emily shrugged. "He's insane, Roland. His reasons are his own."

"It was like he wanted me to hurt him," he said with a frown, having not heard her response. "Like he wanted to be fucking punished or something; as if I were justified in what I was doing to him."

"Roland, who the fuck knows what's in that twisted excuse he calls for a brain? Maybe he felt some amount of guilt and responsibility for what he did, but I doubt it. What's more likely is that he gets off on the pain," Emily said with a sneer in Sands' direction.

"What?" Roland asked, having half heard her that time.

Emily rolled her eyes but answered him anyway. "I was saying that that sick bastard over there probably gets off on pain. He strikes me as the type."

Roland's face tuned from disgusted to pensive as he looked over his enemy and victim. "You think so?"

Emily let out a soft snort in irritation and rolled her eyes again. "For fuck's sake Roland, I don't know. Maybe he imagines he's the Queen of England in his off moments. Who cares? But even if that's true, it doesn't make what we did right."

"What _we_ did? I didn't see you in there beating on him," Roland said bitterly.

"I didn't stop you. I knew what you were doing and I didn't stop you. That makes me an accomplice," Emily refuted.

"The whole fucking hospital probably knew what we were doing. That bitch doctor certainly did. And what kind of fucking sense does that make? I thought doctors were sworn to 'do no harm' or some bullshit like that."

Emily shook her head. "This whole place is nuts and I think it's catching. That bastard killed two of my best friends and countless others and here I am defending him," Emily said dryly.

Roland frowned. "I know. He killed them all and he didn't even care. He showed no remorse whatsoever, that fucking sociopathic bastard. But…you're right. I shouldn't have done that. No one deserves what I did to him. Not even him. I just…I was so angry. I wanted to make him pay, Em. And I did."

"We all have things to answer for in this life, Roland. Things we wish we hadn't done; things we wish we could take back. They're ours. And _we_ pay for them, Roland. We're paying now."

"Not as much as he is," Roland said grimly. Emily couldn't help but nod.

WWW

Washington DC, 12 March, 1986, 7:42 AM

The fire had apparently raged for hours. Sands had wanted to stay and watch it burn, but somehow he wasn't able to get that desire across to the all-too-helpful medical technicians and family members. They had whisked him away to the hospital before the mob had even showed up. Not that they had many neighbors, especially not within walking distance, but he had no doubt in his mind that once the nosy sons of bitches saw the ambulances and the fire trucks speeding past their houses they wouldn't be too far behind. It wasn't fucking fair. Why should they get to stay and watch when he couldn't? It was his house! He had started the fire, for fuck's sake. _Best not to let anyone know that, Sands. They'd lock you up for murder. _

"I don't care. I was supposed to die, you son interfering bastard," Sands hissed. "I just wanted it to end."

_Aww__ Boo-fucking-hoo. If you really thought I was just going to let us fry then you're dumber than I give you credit for, and that's saying a lot._

"Just leave me alone," Sands moaned, placing his head in his hands.

"Young man? Are you alright? Who are you talking to?" a voice asked a few seconds later.

_Don't you dare tell him. You will not get us fucking locked up. I won't let you._

Sands scowled but did not lift his head. "No one. I wasn't talking to anyone. Just leave me alone."

"I know you've been through a trauma, but that's no cause for rudeness, young man," the voice berated him softly.

Sands laughed bitterly then. "A trauma? Both of my parents are dead, sir. They died in a fire that destroyed my house as well. I have nothing left."

"That's not entirely true," the voice said hesitantly.

Sands sighed and looked up. He was greeted with the sight of a middle-aged gentleman with small round glasses perched on a well formed nose above a rail-thin stature encased by a clearly expensive grey pinstripe suit. "Who are you?"

"My name is Maximilian Dellacourt, young sir. I am your father's chief attorney. Or, I was in any case. I am also the executor of your parent's estate. I am terribly sorry for your loss, but the truth of the matter is that the world moves on. What happened to your parents was a terrible tragedy, but we must not let ourselves become embittered by it. We must not lose ourselves to our grief."

Sands blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

_Is this guy serious? Fuck, and I thought your parents were callous._ _You know what? I think I like him. _

"You should really attempt to listen, young sir. What I'm telling you is of the utmost importance and I do not appreciate talking to someone who isn't going to hear what I have to say."

"Oh. Right. Go on, I'm listening," Sands murmured, too dumbfounded to do anything else.

The gentleman cleared his throat. "Yes, well as I was saying, I am the executor of your parent's estate. Now listen closely. Pending an investigation into their death, you stand to inherit everything. You were there only son and as such, their only heir. You wouldn't be able to access it until your next birthday as you remain a minor, but you will be given a stipend enough to keep a young man like you accustomed to the life you have been brought up in. Do you understand me? You stand to inherit quite a large sum of money, Mr. Sands."

_That is, if they don't find out you're the one who torched the place. But still, we should celebrate! You're going to be a…just how much money are you going to get anyway?_

"Might I ask how much I stand to inherit?" Sands asked cautiously.

Mr. Dellacourt looked at him with a mild glare, as if to imply that no one of such high breeding and manners should be asking such a question, but Sands just gave him a look right back in return and the man went on anyway. "Roughly seven hundred and twenty-two million dollars, young sir," he said in a dry voice.

Sands couldn't quite remember what he had done after hearing that, but it was a safe guess that he probably gaped. Before he could even think to gather his wits about him to say something in response, the man continued.

"That figure is just what the banks hold, Mr. Sands. You also own the majority of the stock in your father's company and properties throughout the world. There are also numerous investments both of your parents took an interest in as well, but I won't get into any of that now. Needless to say, young sir, you are a very rich man."

_And I bet you're going to turn into a fucking snob because of it?_ The voice sneered. _Fucking rich people._

Sands was about to retort to that when he realised Mr. Dellacourte was still standing in front of him and seemed to be waiting for some kind of words of wisdom. "Thank you for informing me, Mr. Dellacourte. I regret to say my energies will probably be put toward clearing my name of…" he paused for emphasis. "...these tragedies."

Dellacourte nodded. "Indeed. Well I have no doubt that these matters will be taken care of soon. I mean, they can't possibly believe you would set fire to your own house, can they? What possible sense could that make?"

The voice laughed. _If he only knew.__ Maybe you should tell him. That could be fun. Think he'd believe us? Think he'd say we couldn't have the money if he found out you were insane? _

"No sense at all," Sands agreed with a mental glare at his unwelcome guest.

He nodded again. "Well if you are feeling up to it, I suggest we go and speak with the young detective that was practically standing upon my heels to get in here. The nurse made him wait outside, bless her, but if you're able to speak with him, I rather think you should. If only to get this whole mess straightened out."

_But what if I don't want to talk to him, you interfering bastard?_ Sands thought to himself with a mental scowl while on the outside he was all smiles and acceptance. "I will certainly follow that advice, Mr. Dellacourte. Lead on."

"Call me Max, young sir," he said after a moment's consideration before taking him to meet with the detective.

WWW

Present Day

Claire Harrington, M.D was silently fuming as she surveyed the ills that had been inflicted upon her patient. _Something has to be done about this. This shouldn't have happened. And yet… I can use this to my advantage. I can make him trust me. _She nodded to herself as she realised what she would have to do. It was simply, really. She had seen enough mindless cop shows to understand the concept of good cop, bad cop. Agent Rivers and his woman were the bad and she would be the good. She would earn Mr. Sands' trust by caring for him. She would show him that she had only the best intentions for him; that she would never do anything to harm him. That is, unless it was for his own good. Sometimes bad things had to happen for the good of the person afflicted. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. She firmly believed that.

"Are you ready to hear the report, Doctor?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

She nodded. "Yes, do go on. How bad is he?"

The attending physician that stood at her elbow cleared his throat checked and rechecked the chart in front of him, and began. "Two broken ribs, a fractured jaw, broken nose, broken left cheekbone, and the wound on his chest has broken open again." The doctor closed his notes and cleared his throat again. "It could have been worse, but that man beat him up pretty badly. If you aren't going to call the proper authorities, I will."

"And say what?" Dr. Carrington seethed, her vision filled with images of strangling that bastard CIA agent for what he had done to her patient.

"Tell them what happened! Look, I believe what they say about him, I believe that he killed all those people, but no one deserves that."

"They won't believe us," she continued.

The doctor scoffed. "Why wouldn't they? We're doctors, for Christ's sake, Claire."

Dr. Harrington's eyes narrowed minutely at the usage of her first name, but she didn't comment upon it. "And they're CIA agents. They'll just tell whoever's in charge that they were defending themselves; that they were given leave to use all necessary force to bring him back to us and they did so."

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Claire. They _beat_ him while he was in their _custody._ He couldn't even defend himself because he was restrained. Tell me you're not going to let them get away with this."

"Oh I'm not, _Greg_," she stated coldly. "You don't have to worry about that."

Dr. Harrington's companion frowned a little at that as he looked up and saw the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes. He didn't worry, actually because it was clear that she would see to it that the persons responsible for Mr. Sands' condition would pay dearly. He only hoped he be around to witness it when she did.

WWW

"So…who are you and what did you do to deserve taking care of the psycho?" Sands muttered as a nurse bent over him to shine a light into his eyes for what seemed like the twentieth time to check him over for a possible concussion.

"Don't talk. You've got a fractured jaw," she instructed evenly, her voice practically medicinal in itself.

Sands rolled his eyes and gently lifted his aching head up to take in his bound hands and feet. "All I can do is talk. And it doesn't hurt," he further elaborated, giving the IV in his right wrist a meaningful look. "I don't know what you're giving me, but I feel about ready to float off this bed and out the window. That is, if I wasn't tethered down."

"If you're trying to get me to remove your restraints you're wasting your time," the nurse, or possible intern-he could never remember such things-said clearly. "You're going to stay here until you've healed and then you'll be handed over to the proper authorities."

"Where I'll be locked up for the rest of my life or executed. Yes, I know," Sands finished for her. "Neither option sounds like much fun to me."

"Fun? You're looking for fun?" the nurse/intern asked incredulously. She was probably an intern. Nurses didn't wear the white doctor coats, did they?

If he could have shrugged, he would have. "Why not? If we can't get any fun out of life, then what's the point?"

"What you would consider fun normal people consider worthy of a death sentence, Mr. Sands."

"Be that as it may, that doesn't mean it's not fun."

"You're sick," she said disgustedly.

"Which is why I'm tied to the bed in a fucking crazy ward, I'd imagine," Sands said dryly. "But don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"What? Are you completely insane? I'm not going to go out and kill someone just because you say its fun!"

"Did he say kill someone? No, he didn't. And of course we're crazy. We're nuttier than squirrel shit," Jeffrey added with a smirk. "You don't have to kill someone to have fun. Oftentimes, it's more fun to maim them for life. Have you ever given someone a limp before? That's one of my goals. One day I'll have enough patience to do so, you mark my words."

"Do you even know where you are? You're tied to a bed with a quartet of armed guards standing outside the door just waiting for you to make a wrong move. Trust me, you're not going _anywhere._"

"I escaped this fucking place once already and I was drugged to the fucking gills while I did it. What makes you think I can't do it again, sweetness?"

The intern's dark denim-blue eyes narrowed at the name but she didn't comment upon it. "We've learned from our mistakes. You're not leaving this hospital until it's time for you to be thrown down into whatever hole they come up with for a cockroach like you and forgotten about. Either that or they execute you. I wonder if they'll let me watch."

"No death penalty in this state, sugar. Sorry to disappoint," Jeffrey drawled with a smirk, clearly enjoying the banter he was having with her.

"Pity," she murmured with a frown, flipping her chin-length black hair in an irritated gesture.

"Well I tell you what hon, if they decide to do whatever it is they do to people like me because of what I did in Maryland, I'll be sure to have them send you an invitation, savvy?"

"Oh I'll be there with bells on," the intern said coldly. "Maybe I'll even wave to you before the do it."

Jeffrey smirked. "You're a real bitch, you know that? I think I like you."

"Gee, my day is now complete. I have gotten a psychopath and a murderer to like me. I think I'll write home to mom."

"I'd do that, but Sands killed his mother so my letters wouldn't get anywhere," Jeffrey said wryly.

"Can you send letters to hell? I bet that's where the bitch ended up," Sands muttered under his breath.

Jeffrey tsked. "Such language. And about your mother, too. She would be so ashamed."

"Oh shut the fuck up. This is all your fucking fault, you know. If you hadn't stopped to chat with the fucking CIA we might have gotten out of here," Sands growled.

"What? Fuck you. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Get fucking shot? They had the goddamned place surrounded, Sands! You want to blame someone; blame fucking Rivers for throwing that fucking knife."

"I am going to kill that son of a bitch anyway, don't you worry. Look at what he fucking did to us!"

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I was there, Sands. I don't know about you but I had fucking fun getting be beat up by a little prick like him. It was exactly how I wanted to finish up the day," he said dryly.

"He's not going to get away with it. I mean, how the fuck can he? This is a hospital, for fuck's sake! Why didn't anyone fucking stop him?" Sands yelled, his hands balling into fists despite the dull pain that threatened to break through the blanket of painkillers he was currently under. "No. You know what? I'm fucking glad they didn't stop him. I'm glad they didn't do a goddamned thing to him. I hope they don't. I really do. That just leaves them all to me. And I will make them all pay," he hissed.

"We're fucking tied to a bed, Sands. Just how are you going to make him pay, exactly?" Jeffrey asked sardonically.

"Patience is a virtue, Jeffrey. I can wait. I'll let him think I've forgotten how he's wronged us. I'll let him think that poor, crazy Sands is too fucked up and scared to do anything about it. That's fine. Let him have his moments of superiority. I'll make him scream in the end."

"You're fucking insane," Jeffrey muttered with a gentle shake of his head, not wanting to tempt the pain.

"Yes, I am," Sands agreed without hesitation. "But that doesn't mean that I won't get him."

"Yes, it does," the intern spoke up from her silent corner of the room, startling both men. They had forgotten she was even there listening to them. "You're never going to get free."

"Oh really? And what makes you so fucking sure?" Sands asked with a sneer. "I've done it once, halfway drugged to the gills and tied up. What makes you think I can't do it again?"

"Because I won't let you," she answered with authority.

Jeffrey snorted before Sands could reply. "What's your name, sweetness?" he asked.

"I didn't know you were blind as well as insane and arrogant," she said with a smirk as her clearly obvious nametag flashed in the garish fluorescent light of the room.

"Ha, ha very funny. I can't exactly turn to get a better fucking look, now can I sweetie pie?" Jeffrey responded with a mixture of a smirk and a scowl.

"My name is Ms. Drasden. And I'd appreciate if you called me that, Mr. Sands," she said evenly.

"Oh come on. What's your first name? I won't tell anyone, I promise," Jeffrey asked with good-humored levity.

"We're tied to a fucking bed and you're trying to flirt with one of the jailers? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sands asked incredulously.

"I'm bored and I don't want to talk to you. That leaves…well let's see…no, no one in that corner, no one on the fucking ceiling, oh wait that only leaves her," Jeffrey said with a scowl. "It's either make conversation with them or go crazy by having to listen to your ranting. I choose them."

"You shouldn't. They're just out to get us," Sands insisted, giving the intern a suspicious glance.

"They've already gotten us, Sands. Now stop being so fucking paranoid. And stop interrupting. She hasn't told me her name yet," Jeffrey said pointedly.

"Well she's not going to now. She sees that were fucking—"

Sands was cut off by the intern's crisp, no-nonsense voice. "I would appreciate it if you didn't curse so much, Mr. Sands. And my name is Lauren if you really must know," she said in even tones.

"Lauren. My new favorite name," Jeffrey said with a smirk.

"What gives you the fucking right to tell me how to talk? I can say whatever the fuck I want," Sands groused, glaring daggers at her.

"The fact that I can decide to put you on so many anti-psychotics that you can't even hold a coherent thought let alone speak, Mr. Sands. Now if you remain civil and do what I and Dr. Harrington tell you, we won't have to resort to that."

"She's a hard-ass, Sands. I'd listen to her. Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Lauren. Slip of the tongue, you see," Jeffrey said, feigning all the innocence of a silver-tongued devil as he did so.

"Naturally," Lauren said drolly. "This goes for…both of you," she said hesitantly, seeming to accept the fact that there were indeed two of them when many others in her position had not. "These are the rules: no cursing, no using of pet names, no yelling, no assaulting the staff, no biting the hand that feeds you. I'm sure there will be more added, but this is my prerogative. If any of these rules are ignored or broken, there will be consequences. Some worse than others. If on the other hand, you're cooperative I promise that _this_," she gestured towards his bloodied and bruised face, "will never happen again."

Sands snorted. "And why should I believe you? I didn't see any of you or your boss stepping in to stop him last time."

"That's because you weren't cooperating last time," she said as if it should have been intuitively obvious. "Cooperate with us, and that will change."

"So, what? If I behave like the good little boy I'm clearly not you won't condone members of this nation's law enforcement agency practicing their abusing techniques on my face?"

"In essence, that is correct," she said with a nod.

"And you won't drug me into oblivion again? That was a whole lot of no fun," Jeffrey muttered.

"You will be given antipsychotics to keep you calm. There is no negotiating around that. However, if you do what we ask of you when we ask it, I will insure that you're never given enough that you don't retrain some form of lucidity."

"'_Some form of lucidity,'_" Sands repeated dryly. "That's very reassuring."

"It's all you're going to get. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

Sands grunted.

"Do you really have any other choice, Mr. Sands?"

No. He didn't. Fuck. "We have a deal, Ms. Drasden."

TBC

A/N: Well this certainly took a long time to write. Sorry about that. Sands and Jeffrey kept telling me to go bug someone else, and Roland just locked himself away in a guilty corner. It makes it difficult to write under those circumstances, let me tell you. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and I'll see you next chapter.


	24. Renewed Acquaintances

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Robert who? SJ is all mine! Mine I tell you! is carted away by nice men in white with butterfly nets

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Lauren Drasden, Julian Manchester and Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Well it's been a year and a half since this has been updated…well not quite but close…and I am sorry for that. So without further ado, the new chapter!

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Renewed Acquaintances

"I feel like Hannibal Lector," Sands muttered aloud as one of his armed entourage of guards tightened the strap holding his arm to the wheelchair he had been forced to sit in.

Lauren Drasden stood watching and smirked. "You should have thought of that before you went out and killed all those people," she said dryly. "Stop your whingeing or I'm going to ask one of these fine gentlemen to include a gag."

"You wouldn't dare. You enjoy the pleasure of my conversation too much to do something foolish like that," Sands responded with a grin and a lazy loll of his head against the back of the wheelchair.

"I just have to take you for a "walk." There's nothing in the hospital bylines that says I have to listen to you," Lauren pointed out as she checked and double checked the restraints, never moving closer than was necessary to Sands.

Sands laughed. "The idea that you have to take me on "walks" is hilarious. You don't look like one to care about ethics, Harrington either, so why bother with pretenses? Why not just keep me caged in my little cell of a room and throw away the key? I know that's what the CIA's urging you to do," Sands murmured.

Supposedly it was unethical to keep a prisoner in restraints for long periods of time without some kind of respite, even if that prisoner was a confessed murderer. Lauren didn't agree with this concept at all but Sands had behaved himself over the past few weeks as he healed and her conscience would be screaming at her if she didn't do this one small thing for him. "Oh I'm sure you'll be put there soon enough. But apparently they seem some insane need to try you first."

"Yeah, the law is funny that way," Sands murmured with a smirk. "They'll probably just put me to death anyway. It's no big deal."

Lauren snorted. Only a truly insane man could manage to be so glib about being executed by the state for his crimes. "Actually knowing my luck they'll probably deem you twisted enough to throw you into a padded cell for the rest of your life. And since we seem to get along so _well,_ they'll probably force me to look after you. Life sucks sometimes."

"Well you could just let me go and you wouldn't have to put up with me ever again," Sands offered with a slight grin before turning completely serious. "They're not locking me up. I'd rather die."

Lauren nodded in silence. It wasn't a view she hadn't heard before. Many of her patients would have rather chosen death or imprisonment than spend a lifetime in an institution such as this one. "You're not going to be let go, Sands. You might as well stop asking. And I'm sure the courts will deem you aware of your actions when you killed those people. You will surely be put to death."

"You really think so?" he asked bemusedly, and Lauren was a bit unsettled by the sound of hope in his voice. He truly wanted to be put to death if the only other option was a lifetime spent in a padded cell and straightjacket. She nodded in response to his question though. "The reason I ask is because I haven't always had the best luck when it comes to dealing with the law."

"I'm aware of that," Lauren said evenly as she remembered just what had happened to him all those weeks ago. He had barely been out of surgery when a member of the CIA had thought it necessary to beat the shit out of him. Knowing Sands as she did now she knew without a doubt that he had the singular ability to drive men to extreme measures in dealing with him but that did not excuse what the man Rivers had done.

Sands grinned then and Lauren could tell he was beginning to lose what tenuous grasp of lucidity he held right now. "Now what are you going to do with us, Lauren. We're tied, we're bound. We're in your control. You like that, don't you? You like being in control. We like it too. We understand your desires, your lusts. You want us," Sands tossed his head back to stare up at the ceiling, exposing his pale throat as if he wanted her to bite it. Knowing his…proclivities, that probably wasn't far from the truth. "They can stay and watch," he said breathlessly, gesturing to the two armed guards with a slight nod. "Just give into what we both want, Lauren. Give a poor bastard one last fuck before the end. You won't even have to undo the restraints."

Lauren scowled, forcing away the unwanted stab of arousal that she always felt when he asked her such things, despite her rational disgust at the asking. Her body assured her that it could be good between them, he was more than handsome and his requests certainly were…provocative, but her mind cried out in disgust and revulsion. He was a murderer. A monster who lived to manipulate others as he was manipulating her now. "Save your propositions, Sands. I'm not interested."

Sands laughed and she just barely kept herself from flinching at the sound. "You're lying. We can practically smell the lust on you, Lauren. Be the bad girl. Give in to what we both want. Make me scream, Lauren. Make me beg for your touch. You know you could. I'm in your control. Just give in."

"If you don't shut your mouth and leave Ms. Drasden alone I'm going to show you just what pain is, you sick bastard," one of the guards spoke up before she could respond.

Lauren visibly groaned at her erstwhile protector's comment. When were the fools in charge of this hospital going to send her guards that knew better than to try and play to Sands' games? The poor bastard was falling into Sands' trap even now.

Sands turned to the guard and grinned, ignoring Lauren's groaning. "Would you now? And how would you do that? Are you a sadist like me, Joe?"

Joe the hospital guard started at how Sands had possibly learned his name-he checked to make sure there wasn't a nametag on his shirt and frowned to see that indeed their wasn't-and glowered at him in anger. "I am _nothing_ like you, you sick son of a bitch. Speak to me that way again and I'll shoot you."

Sands sighed, his good humour gone. It was hard to stay in a good mood with all the fucking drugs they kept pumping into him, but it was even harder to take pleasure into manipulating someone so easily manipulated. "You're not worth our time," he muttered to the now purple-faced guard. "Driver? Let's get out of here," he called backwards to Lauren. "You and I can stop for a quickie on the way." He winked, making sure that the guard saw the gesture. The guard did and as Sands had predicted he lunged towards him, hands outstretched to beat and abuse.

Sands didn't bother to flinch or fight back. He couldn't do much of anything except glare seeing that his hands were strapped to the chair he was pushed around in. He just lifted his chin in expectation of a blow that never came.

"_Enough,_ Joe. He's just trying to goad you and apparently it's working. Stop being such an idiot and pull yourself together. I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here," Lauren hissed, not moving from her position between him and Sands no matter how much she might want to. Sands was an arrogant prick who she had wanted to slug more than a few times herself but she hadn't. And she wasn't about to let anyone else give into the temptation that she was forced to deny herself either.

"But you can't—" the guard started, turning to his fellow guard-Chris she thought his name was-with a pleading look for solidarity. Chris to his credit hadn't moved a muscle throughout this whole thing, just watched the proceedings with a detached eye. He wasn't an idiot. Lauren could see that and he would be allowed to remain.

"I can and I am. Get out," Lauren said evenly, pointing at the door. "I'll be fine with Chris. Oh and if you're so easily manipulated by men who can't otherwise lay a finger on you I suggest you look into a new line of work."

Seeing that his fellow guard was going to be no help whatsoever, Joe turned on a polished heel and left the room, muttering "I won't be sorry when he kills that bitch," just loud enough for Lauren to hear.

Sands opened his mouth to give a parting comment but the fierce glare Lauren leveled on him kept his mouth shut for the time being.

"Would you like me to radio for a new guard to be sent up, Miss?" the remaining guard asked, a decent-looking man in his thirties with auburn hair and a boxer's physique. He exuded a sense of danger and Lauren was suddenly startled to realise that Sands had yet to try and manipulate him into leaving. Perhaps he sensed what she herself did. This was a man not to be messed with.

She sighed and did her best to think of the correct answer to his question rather than the emotional and irritated one on the tip of her tongue. "I'm just taking Mr. Sands to get some air. He's fully secured and we won't be leaving the grounds. I'm sure you're more than capable to deal with him yourself for the rest of the day. I wouldn't want to inconvenience Officer Silber anymore than I already have these past weeks," she said with a slight lift of her shoulders.

"Oh I don't think he minds, Miss. He's never complained about you before and trust me, he considers almost everyone in this hospital an idiot who isn't worth his time. He doesn't much care for your…boss," he said tactfully.

"Dr. Harrington fortunately isn't my boss although she tries to be. And I agree with him. Most of the doctors here aren't worth their salt, but if you tell anyone I said that I'll deny it and have you fired," she said seriously although her voice was sweet.

Chris nodded. "I understand, Ms. Drasden. I won't say a word."

She nodded. "I know you won't which is why I'm convinced to give Officer Silber at least one day without a complaint from me for a new guard. I'm sure you're competent enough to know when you're in over your head and to do something about it." She gestured towards Sands with a nod of her head.

"Of course, Miss," he said with a nod, appreciating her faith in him. He knew he was good at his job, and it was gratifying to see that he wasn't the only one.

"But now I think it's time to go," she said with a glance at Sands, taking in his glassy eyes and the fact that he hadn't spoken a word in a manner of minutes. If someone didn't talk to him and keep his focus he often found himself overtaken by the drugs they gave him to keep him docile. Since he had kept his word by being moderately cooperative for her and the other doctors, she strove to keep hers by keeping him as lucid as possible without compromising their safety. She wasn't about to lessen any of his doses for a promise. She wasn't a fool. But she would try and keep him centered on the present.

"Sands?" she asked directly, locking gazes with him. It took a moment but his expression finally settled into something other than mindless obedience. As appreciated as that was, she couldn't stand seeing it on him. She knew he was dangerous, knew he had killed dozens of people, and yet she couldn't bring herself to want him mindless and drooling. "Time to go."

Sands nodded, his brow furrowing as he looked at her. He had been thinking of something…saying something…and then all of a sudden it was gone. The first few times it had happened to him he'd freaked out but now he was unwillingly becoming used to the state the drugs they forced upon him put him into. He couldn't hear Jeffrey at the moment-sometimes he was able to whisper but not always-and his moods were fluid and dulled at the edges. He didn't get angry, he didn't get happy, he just was. "I want a cigarette," he grumbled as Lauren pushed his chair out through the door into the heart of the hospital, the lone guard following close behind.

"This is a hospital, you're not allowed to smoke," Lauren reminded him for the tenth time. "And smoking's not good for you."

"A lot of things aren't good for me," he murmured in return. "Take me outside then. I'll smoke there."

"It's the middle of winter, Sands. You'll freeze," Lauren said with a sigh. She herself had never seen the appeal in sucking on a bit of a burnt weed and paper. Did he have any idea what that crap did to his lungs?

"I don't care," he muttered. "I'm not able to scratch my own nose or jerk-off without a guard present to make sure I'm not going to kill you all with my bare hands, the least you can do is let me have a fucking cigarette. Even prison inmates get cigarettes."

"I don't have any," Lauren said after a long moment of contemplation. "But if you can't possibly live without one I'll ask around."

"I've got one, Ms," Chris offered behind her shoulder. She jumped at his sudden voice, having forgotten that he was there. The better security guards of the hospital had an uncanny ability to sneak up on her which they practiced with irritating regularity. Lauren had a sneaking suspicion they were doing it on purpose.

"Chris, my armed comrade. I think I just might have to marry you," Sands drawled, eying the man gratefully. "Or at least send you flowers. Can I send him flowers, Lauren?"

"Ms. Drasden," she reminded him under her breath.

"I prefer roses but your continued cooperation would be preferable," Chris answered Sands' offhand comment wryly.

Sands pretended to consider it. "Keep me well-stocked in cigarettes and I'll be a good boy," he offered with a disarming grin.

"I don't believe you, but at least they'll keep you quiet for awhile," Chris muttered, giving Lauren a shrug when she shot him a pointed glare.

"You still can't smoke in the hospital," she muttered, hating how nagging she sounded but not really caring otherwise. Sands was a dangerous patient and here his _guard_ was offering him cigarettes as if they were old pals. It didn't sit well with her.

"Take me up to the roof then," Sands hastened to suggest again, clearly willing to do anything for the cigarette Chris had offered.

Lauren frowned at the obvious drug-seeking behaviour but nodded. "We're all going to freeze but I guess you don't care as long as you get your nicotine fix, right?" Sands nodded eagerly and Lauren let out an unladylike snort. "You two can show how macho you are and freeze your dick's off. I'm going to grab a coat."

"I think I'll be macho, Ms.," Chris said with a smirk and a wink.

"I don't really have a choice either way but I'll gladly freeze for a cigarette. Do you know how _long_ it's been since I've had one? I dare not contemplate it. I think I might slip into depression. Not," he eyed the IV line running into his arm with disdain, "that that's even possible with the drugs you all seem fit to give me."

"Suck it up, mister. If you wanted to complain about antipsychotics, you should have thought of that before you turned psychotic," Lauren muttered, pushing him in the direction of the elevators so they could head up to the roof. The employee break room was on the way and that's where she'd hung her coat this morning.

"You say this like it's my fault," Sands murmured, lolling his head backwards to look at her. "That I just woke up one day and decided to be like this. I didn't you know."

Lauren didn't answer. It wasn't her job to coddle the psychotics, not matter how handsome they might be.

WWW

Julian Manchester paced the waiting room the hospital wondering what the hell he was doing here. The man the police had in custody, one Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, had all but taken him hostage in his own house and more than once threatened to kill him. When he had fled the masquerade ball last month Julian had been relieved. Who wouldn't be? If half of what they said about his old schoolmate was true-and Julian was inclined to believe _all_ of it-then Sands was a very sick man indeed; one to be avoided. So it came back to the question: Just what the bloody hell was he doing here?

He had no idea really. Was he here to gloat? It was possible but not plausible. He wasn't the stupid. Or was he? What _was_ he doing here? "Just leave, Julian," he muttered to himself lowly. "You haven't stated your business yet. You haven't told the watchful nurses why you're calling. Just leave. You don't need to see him." It was wonderful advice. So why wasn't he following it?

"Was there something you needed, sir?" the receptionist asked with a wary glance in his direction.

He blinked at her for a moment, thinking of what to say. He felt her eyes take in his rumpled suit and frantic air. She probably thought he was some relation awaiting the results of a loved one's surgery. "I'm here visiting someone," he said at last, making some attempt to straighten his tie and smooth his dark blonde hair back. "S. J. Sands," he said after a long pause of consideration. It was too late to turn back now. He was committed, no matter what his reasons had been for coming.

The receptionist nodded and entered in the name to her computer, her brow furrowing as she came across it. "Mr. Sands is being held in our psychiatric ward under security, sir. Visitors aren't normally allowed."

_"Alright.__ Sorry for bothering you. I'll be going now."_ The words wanted to pass his lips but didn't. He hadn't come all this way to turn around and go home no matter what some ditzy receptionist said. "Aren't normally allowed, Miss? So that means that sometimes they are allowed?" he asked sweetly, laying on the charm a little thicker than he normally would, but he figured she'd be a tough nut to crack.

"May I ask the manner of your business with Mr. Sands, Mr…"

"Manchester. Julian Manchester," Julian said with a wide smile that he knew the women drooled over. He knew that he was handsome and he had always known how to use his looks to his advantage. "I'm an old friend of Sands'. I got a call when he was picked up that maybe a familiar face would go to helping him come out of whatever mindset he's trapped in." Utter bullshit but hey it sounded good, right?

The receptionist was eating it up. "Of course, Mr. Manchester."

"Please, call me Julian," he said smoothly. This was almost a waste of his talents. "So may I visit him?"

She pretended to consider it before handing over a white pass that had 'VISITOR' clearly marked in big red letters. "You'll have to be escorted. Would you like me to—"

"Oh I'm certain you have other duties to attend to, Miss. I'm sure one of the fine armed gentlemen you have standing about will do just fine." There was no way on earth he was going to meet Sands without an armed guard at his side.

The receptionist looked disappointed, but saw reason in his statement. There was a full waiting room behind him and as a receptionist she couldn't just up and leave to personally escort a visitor whenever she wanted. After an obvious sigh she raised a radio and called for a guard to come greet him. She needn't have bothered with the radio. There were an overabundance of men just standing about attempting to look important not yards from the front desk. One of them answered his radio and waltzed over seemingly without a care in the world.

_Sands must not be as dangerous as I thought if they're not worried about taking people to see him,_ Julian thought upon seeing the man's manner and following him back through various security doors to see his old school comrade. _Had Sands been lying about the people he'd killed?_ No, that didn't ring true. He had seen the murder in Sands' cold eyes; heard the truth of his claims in the flat tone of his voice. Sands had killed all those he claimed to have killed, probably more. Julian was suddenly very glad that Sands had been caught. He didn't know if he would have been on Sands' hit list-he didn't exactly know how he had managed to escape the masquerade alive-but he was very glad he was now out of harm's way. _Except that you're going to visit the very man you narrowly escaped last month. You're just as crazy as he is. _

Julian found he couldn't really argue with such logic but it was too late to turn back now. He and his armed escort had already reached Sands' room. The guard told him to hang back while he went in first. Julian had no intention of doing otherwise. Despite his lack of rational thought in coming here, it could not be claimed that he was a stupid man. He was well educated and clever despite the occasional horrid lapse in judgement. That said, Julian couldn't help but put his head into the room and look around; his curiosity getting the better of him.

He was mildly disappointed to see that the room was nothing like the medieval torture chamber he had been hoping for. _The walls aren't even padded for fuck's sake. What kind of hospital is this?_ Apart from the obvious hands, feet and chest restraints on the bed it looked like a completely ordinary hospital room. An _empty_ hospital room. "I thought you said that this was Sands' room," he murmured as the guard returned, closing the door behind him.

"Oh it is. He and Ms. Drasden must be out for a walk," the guard explained with a shrug.

"A _walk?_ They just let him get up and walk around whenever he's in the mood?" Julian asked incredulously, casting a wary eye over his shoulder as if expecting to see Sands walking up right now.

The guard laughed and shook his head. Julian wanted to strangle him. "By walk I mean he's pushed around in a wheelchair for awhile. Supposedly it's unethical to keep someone restrained to the bed indefinitely. A load of horse hooey if you ask me," he muttered under his breath. "We could go after them if you like. My guess is that they're up on the roof."

"On the roof? In this weather?" Julian repeated again, sounding a bit like the idiot the guard must take him as for questioning each thing he said.

The guard just shrugged. "Fresh air's fresh air."

Julian frowned, tightened his long wool coat a bit tighter around himself and nodded. "Let's go then."

WWW

Sands chomped down on the end of his cigarette with relish, tilting his head back a little to further insure that he wouldn't lose it to his lap. The bitch and her armed monkey wouldn't let even one of his hands loose so he could smoke so he was forced to do it the hard way. It didn't matter, really. He was so relieved to have the nicotine in his system that he would have smoked with his feet if he had to. Alas, his feet were also strapped down to the wheeled contraption they had him in. He had tested the restraints a few times going up the elevator when they hadn't been looking, but they held fast. If he was going to get out of his hellhole he was going to need help getting the restraints off.

"Are you done yet, Sands? Some of us aren't cold-blooded like you are," Lauren muttered, clutching her coat tightly around herself. It wasn't snowing-_yet­_-but she could practically smell the bite of frost in the air and cursed men and smoking habits everywhere.

Sands' eyes made their way to his face and he let his cigarette dangle from his bottom lip for a moment before inhaling just slow enough so that she knew he was fucking with her. She had just been about to tell him where he could stick his future smoking privileges when the door leading back down into the hospital opened and two people stumbled out to join them in the cold. She didn't recognise either of them and figured that they must be two idiots looking for a place to have a smoke like Sands was.

Julian followed the guard silently out onto the roof, telling himself that it wasn't too late to just turn around and leave. He didn't need to see Sands, he didn't even know what he was really doing here. Clearly he had not been firing on all cylinders when entertaining the notion to come to this godforsaken place. He had had ample opportunity to turn around and head back home during the trip here and he hadn't. Why? Did he need some kind of closer in seeing that Sands was indeed caught and bound and no longer a threat to anyone but himself?

"Either you're keeping my medication higher than promised, Lauren or I'm honoured with my first guest since coming to this delightful facility," Sands murmured loud enough for the entire rooftop to hear, his cigarette bouncing off of his bottom lip as he spoke.

Lauren looked over to the new people and saw that she did recognise the man who came out first as one of the guards. She didn't believe Sands was talking about him so either he was hallucinating-not an entirely impossibility given the levels of antipsychotics running through his blood and his own predisposition towards madness-or he knew the man who followed behind. "Do you know this man, Sands?" she asked a moment later when neither man spoke a word of greeting. They simply stared at each other.

"His name's Julian Manchester. We went to school together. I also ingratiated myself into his household about a month ago. He's probably come to gloat." He smirked and turned look at Julian. "A pleasure to see you again, you bastard. I'd get up to greet you but I'm a little tied up at the moment."

"Quite," Julian said softly, steeling himself and taking a step in Sands' direction. "I'd heard that you'd been caught. I suppose I had to see it for myself."

"Yeah well I'd respond to that with some sort of snide remark but I'm finding it a little difficult to stay upset at anyone given the…" he trailed off and turned to look at Lauren. "Just what is it that runs through my veins these days, darling?"

"Haldol," Lauren answered with a glare at the pet name.

"Haldol? Really? Well gosh no wonder I feel like blowing the back of my head off after supper. What fun." He turned back to Julian with a curious tilt of his head. "They're giving me Haldol, Julian. It's supposed to quell psychopathic urges. It only half works. I'm half-inclined to kill you just for the heck of it, you see. But don't fret. They keep me under restraints even when I sleep. They'll break out the straight jacket soon, just you wait." He spit his spent cigarette to the ground and sighed a thick cloud of his own breath in the cool air and cigarette smoke out like dragon's breath. "But I'm not supposed to talk like that or else this lovely lady standing before you will up my dosages to vegetable-inducing levels and let me tell you, that's a whole lot of no fun."

"How did they catch you?" Julian asked after a long moment of contemplative silence.

Sands looked thoughtful before turning to Lauren without answering him. "Let's go back inside. I think I've collected enough icicles on the tip of my nose for one day. If you really want to know, Julian, then follow as they take me back to my cell."

Julian just nodded and followed Sands and his entourage back into the building.

TBC

A/N: Well I am very very very sorry this wasn't up weeks and months sooner. Forgive me, dear friends. Thank you as always to my reviewers. You guys really make my day and keep me writing. :-D


	25. The Trial Part I

Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Robert who? SJ is all mine! Mine I tell you! is carted away by nice men in white with butterfly nets

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Lauren Drasden, Julian Manchester and Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Another month, another chapter. Enjoy.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Trial Part I

Crazy, Toys in the attic I am crazy, Truly gone fishing. They must have taken my marbles away. Crazy, toys in the attic he is crazy. –Pink Floyd, "The Trial"

"There. Does that cure you of your curiosity, little kitty?" Sands asked Julian harshly, glaring at him from across the room as his erstwhile guards wouldn't let him get any closer than that. He had spent the last…hour or so spilling all the details of his capture and incarceration. He thought he normally wouldn't have been that loquacious and blamed the drugs. Then again, the drugs couldn't be blamed for everything so perhaps he had just wanted to talk. The harshness evaporated from his drying well of feelings and he stared at Julian blankly.

"Sands?" Julian asked with a modicum of concern upon witnessing Sands' mask-like face. To see a sudden shift from the lively and animated asshole he had known from school to the withdrawn and still mental patient he saw before him now was unsettling.

"Dizzy," Sands murmured. The blunt, unassuming way he said it lead Julian to believe it was truth and yet not the whole truth.

"How can you be dizzy? You're sitting down," Julian offered with a confused frown.

Sands sent him a withering look. Or at least, he tried to send him such a look. He didn't quite manage it as he looked about ready to slide off the chair he was in had he not been strapped to it. "Leave me alone," he muttered, his voice slurred and barely coherent.

"Sands?" a new voice asked, and Sands did his best to turn his head in the direction the voice had come from. It was…her. Lauren? He suddenly found it hard to remember just who she was. "Are you still with me, Sands?" she asked again, sounding concerned.

"For fuck's sake. Don't sound so sad. I'm fine." That was what he tried to say, but his tongue wasn't cooperating and he barely managed to speak at all.

Lauren's worry over her patient intensified once she realised Sands wasn't putting on an act. No one could fake that level of confusion, not even a master of manipulation like him. Had she made a mistake somehow? Had she given him too large a dose of Haldol this time? She hoped not, knowing that it could mean the end of her medical career if that's what had happened. _He's a mass murderer. They're not going to blame you,_ she tried to rationalise. The fact that she wasn't as concerned for Sands' well-being as she probably should have been didn't concern her. She had her own life to look out for. _But you've still got a job to do as well. So get to it, missy. Fix this._ She reached out to take Sands' pulse and frowned when he didn't flinch away. Usually he was uncomfortable with her touch to the point of phobia but now he simply sat docilely and let her do what she wished. It didn't bode well for the state of his health. "Shit," she muttered, feeling his heartbeat throb beneath her fingertips. If she had been in a wry mood she might have thought that her very touch caused his pulse to quicken, but she knew better.

"Ms. Drasden? What's wrong?" her erstwhile guard asked cautiously, on edge at her words. She glanced at him and vaguely wondered if he was even aware that he was fingering the gun at his hip as he spoke.

"He's having an adverse reaction to the medication we've been giving him. That's all, Chris." Her voice was clipped and distant. She didn't have time to coddle jumpy guards right now. Her patient was at risk. "Sands, look at me," she directed firmly, even going so far as to grabbing Sands' smooth jaw and directing his attention to her. "You're alright. I'm going to fix this, do you understand? Just stay with me."

Julian watched with mute horror as Ms. Drasden reached over to block off the IV in Sands' arm. "What are you doing?" he hissed, convinced that she was about to let him up so that he could kill them all.

"Saving his life," she answered evenly. "I have to get him back to his room. He can't go off the drugs so abruptly or there will be consequences. But he can't continue on this dose either. Wait—why the hell am I telling you this? It's time for you to leave, Mr. Manchester. Visiting hours are over."

Julian blustered a bit but accepted that there were safer places to be than in a mental hospital with a mass murderer, even if he was leashed. "Very well. Goodbye, Ms. Drasden, Sands." He didn't bother saying goodbye to the guard since he hadn't caught the stoic man's name, but he did nod a farewell to him. "I don't think I'll return—" he cut himself off with a horrified gasp as Sands began convulsing violently in the chair.

"Shit!" Lauren screeched, whirling on the guard. "You! Go get a nurse, a doctor, anyone. Now!" Her tone ensured compliance and the guard went running leaving them alone with Sands, not that he could do much at the moment. She then spun on Julian and he jumped back at her notice. "Help me get the restraints off."

"What? Have you bloody lost your mind! You can't let him go!"

"I already am. And you're going to help me," she ordered, unbuckling the strap across Sands' chest first. She frowned as this only served to make the seizure all that more violent, but that couldn't be helped. "We need to get him on the ground. He'll hurt himself otherwise. Now help me!"

Julian clearly had reservations but did what he was ordered. Between the two of them they managed to get Sands unrestrained and laying flat on the floor. Julian immediately stepped back, having touched Sands as little as possible. While he was hesitant to grab onto someone while their body betrayed them in a seizure, that wasn't the reason he kept his distance. He knew the dangers that came from getting to close to that man, even if this idiot nurse didn't.

Lauren was muttering something about the murder of all men on the face of the planet as she moved Sands into the recovery position. If that pansy Brit knew _anything at all_ about seizures, he would know that Sands would be far too weak to even glare at him let alone attempt to murder him. Sands' eyes were already fluttering as the convulsions in his lean frame ceased, and Lauren knew he would be out of it for awhile. As she watched him sink into unconsciousness she reviewed in her mind what could have caused this. It had to be a reaction to the Haldol, but why now and not earlier? _Dr. Harrington is going to have my hide for this,_ she suddenly realised, dismay colouring her features. Lauren knew just how protective that old witch was of her patients and anyone with any sense could see that Sands had become the doctor's current pet project. This only served to further convince Lauren what an utter quack Harrington was, for there was no way in hell Sands was staying here for very much longer. They didn't have the resources to deal with someone like him despite how they had been managing thus far. This was at its heart a medical hospital for the public, not a prison for the criminally insane.

"I'm leaving," Julian announced. "I don't bloody care if you still need help. That's your job, not mine. You can have the crazy bastard. I won't be coming back." Lauren didn't acknowledge him and Julian turned on a polished heel and retreated in a huff though he was grateful to be escaping with his life once more. His curiosity was cured. He now no longer had any desire to have further dealings with Sands whatsoever. He was finished.

WWW

"Open the door, Brisbane. I know you're in there," Roland muttered as he pounded on the featureless hotel room door. He wasn't quite up to the kicking-the-door-down stage of knocking, but he was getting close. No answer was forthcoming and he pounded harder. He was dimly aware of several doors down the hall opening and the people within them standing to yell or glare at him, but he paid them no mind.

Emily mashed her face into her pillow, daydreaming on how she was about to shoot Roland's prick off for waking her up at this hour. Her hand slipped under her head and came back with her handgun for just that purpose. It was with eerie silence that she got out of bed, crossed the suite, unlocked and opened the door and pointed the gun at the juncture between Roland's legs.

Roland might have been a little too drunk at 3:46 in the morning to know better than to go knocking on Emily's door, but he wasn't so drunk that he didn't understand the threat that a gun pointed at him—especially _there_—caused. "Whoa, Brisbane! Don't go doing anything you're going to regret in the morning!" he tried, his words slightly slurred but coming out clear enough to get his point across. Apparently though, that had been the wrong thing to say.

"Roland _Asshole_ Rivers I am going to shoot your dick off right in this very hall and you know what? I think I'll _celebrate _in the morning. But to let you know that I'm not completely without heart, I'll leave you to bleed to death so that you won't have to live the rest of your life as a eunuch." She cocked the gun.

"Emily, don't!" Roland pleaded, holding out his hands in front of him in a futile gesture to stop a bullet. "I'm _sorry_! I just wanted to talk!"

"About what?" Emily asked warily, though she didn't pull the trigger. Yet.

"About tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" he took a minute for her sleep-fogged brain to catch up. "Oh. Sands' trial. Why?"

"That bastard isn't even going to pay for what he did to her," Roland growled though his voice sounded more sad than angry.

"Who? Susannah? Yvette? He's going on trial for murder, Rivers. Either way, he's going to pay for what he's done." She sighed and lowered the gun after flipping the safety back on. "Come inside. You're making a scene." Actually they both were, but it was easier to just blame him.

"We're off the case and he's going to get away with fucking everything," Roland muttered as he stumbled into Emily's suite as she closed and locked the door behind him.

"We never should have been on the case in the first place," Emily answered him though it was clear by the tone of her voice that she thought this was a load of bullshit just as Roland did. "It wasn't our jurisdiction, it was the FBI's." Those motherless bastards had swooped in and taken over fucking everything. "Not to mention there was a conflict of interest. For both of us. Yvette was my friend too." _As was Susannah._ "We should have turned this over to the FBI from day one."

"If we had, Susannah would still be alive," Roland muttered, sounding more than a little maudlin and guilt-ridden over this fact. Emily wanted to say 'Good. He should feel guilty for what he's done to us,' but she couldn't.

"Maybe. But a lot of other people would be dead. Or do you think that the FBI could have honestly caught him fasten than we did?"

He shook his head. "Not without a lot of help from us."

"Which they wouldn't have asked for. Inter-agency cooperation, my ass," Emily muttered. "At least the police didn't get him," she rationalised, setting the gun down on the table and taking a seat on the couch as she watched Roland do the same. It was clear she wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. "He'll be tried for all of the murders now, not just the ones he committed in DC or Maryland. Yvette's included. And they've frozen all his known accounts. No fancy lawyers to get him off on fucking technicalities either."

"They'll ask for an insanity plea. You know they will. He'll spend a few years in a cushy hospital room and then go free."

"Bullshit. Even if he _does_ get committed rather than incarcerated, there are ways to ensure he _won't_ be comfortable for his sentence. You can bet your ass we'll use them all."

"Really?" he asked, a hint of a smile making its way to his face.

"What? Do you think that this doesn't fucking upset me too? Knowing that the murderer of two of my _best friends_ is going on trial tomorrow and that better yet, he may get away with everything just because he claims he hears fucking voices in his head? Fuck you, Rivers. I may be a bitch, but I'm not a cold-hearted one."

"Sorry," Roland slurred, slumping a little on the couch at his own stupidity. He wasn't a complete bastard who couldn't admit to his own mistakes any more than she was a complete bitch.

Emily ignored the apology. "Just how drunk are you right now?"

He stopped to consider it. "Enough that I came over here in the middle of the night and risked circumcision by bullet just to talk to you about tomorrow."

"Pretty fucking wasted, then."

"Yup. Sounds about right."

Emily shook her head. She was annoyed to find that she couldn't really blame him for wanting to be a little lubricated before the big day. After all, the both of them could be called on to testify against Sands, and she knew that it would take a hell of a lot of will power not to leap off the witness stand and strangle him across the table. "You can sleep it off here."

"_Here,_ here?" he asked, eying what looked to be a rock hard couch with a frown.

"Don't push me, Rivers. I could just kick you out and make you sleep in your own hotel room."

"This _is_ my own hotel room. We were sharing, remember?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I was blocking it out," Emily responded with a smile.

Roland grunted in response to that. "Fine. I guess I'll just sleep on the couch."

Emily rolled her eyes at the overdramatic way in which he had said that. "Don't be such a baby, Rivers. And if you think you're going to guilt-trip me into letting you sleep in the bed with me when you're wasted you've got another thing coming."

"So if I wasn't wasted you'd let me sleep in the there with you?" Roland pressed.

"Just get some sleep, Rivers. I'll be sure to make lots of noise tomorrow morning bright and early so you'll get up on time for court, don't worry," she said wickedly, knowing just as well as he did what kind of state he would be in tomorrow—_this_ morning—given how drunk off his ass he was now.

"Bitch," Roland grumbled, though there was more fondness in his tone than actual malice.

"You better believe it, Rivers. Goodnight."

WWW

"Hear ye, hear ye, calling criminal case S-46-678, the District of Columbia vs. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, The Honourable Judge Winthrop presiding." Sands took his seat again when the court was directed to, his shackles clanging loudly against the top of the defendant's table and one of his lawyers sending him a hard look to not do it again. Sands barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the man. He could barely stand up straight without tripping over his own feet and he was expected to ensure that his chains didn't bang into the table? Fuck that. Everyone knew who and more importantly _what_ he was, so what was the point in hiding it? He was here on trial for murder, not unpaid parking tickets.

_That bastard Rivers is just lucky that he was able to push off my trial long enough for me to heal,_ Sands thought to himself grimly, remembering the long weeks of healing broken bones from Rivers' little…_visit._ He could have used that to his advantage and then some. He snickered to himself at the image of smiling around his wired-shut jaw to the jury but was cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs from his head attorney.

"If you want to get out of this you'll keep your trap shut. Sir," the hardboiled 60ish man said coolly, his clear grey eyes stabbing through Sands' own cold return gaze almost effortlessly.

Sands rolled his eyes at that before reminding himself that he couldn't strangle his lawyer in the middle of his murder trial. Well he _could,_ it just wouldn't be the wisest thing he could have done. Not that he expected to get out of this with his head intact, no matter how good his lawyer thought he was. He was bound and gagged, caught and caged, and he wasn't going to get away so easily.

"Don't look at the jury," the lawyer's voice floated over again as Sands found himself glancing over to the juror box, more than a little amused when the juror's didn't meet his gaze in fear. He could kill each and every one of them easily. They were sheep. _They're also in charge of your fate, idiot. Don't look at them like that._ That thought sobered him and he looked away.

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," he was pulled upright by his chief lawyer at the judge's words. "You are charged with over 30 counts of murder before this court. How do you plead?"

His voice was quiet, but it managed to cause quite a stir in both the courtroom and at his table as this had not been what his lawyer had discussed earlier. "Guilty, your honour."

TBC

A/N Ok shorter than most but I figured that A. this was a good place to stop and B. you didn't want to wait another 2 months for a few more pages. O: ) Anyway, thank you again to all my reviewers. You guys keep me writing.


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